


Everyone Needs an Origin Story

by Kenda1L



Series: The Porn Chronicles [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drunken Shenanigans, Fantasizing, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Getting Together, Growing Up, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, SHEITH - Freeform, The kinkiest of kinks: love and affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L/pseuds/Kenda1L
Summary: Shiro is Hot For Teacher levels of sexy professor. He's also the gangly, Stretch Armstrong-Dorkboy-Next-Door to Keith's childhood home. Keith is having trouble reconciling the two.Or: How Keith and Shiro banged their way through college and somehow managed to fall in love along the way.***“I’m going to fuck our teacher.”Lance sputters helplessly as Keith drops his books on the desk next to him and sits down, looking shell shocked even though he’s the one who just dropped a bomb. “I...you...what?” Keith shrugs. “But, he’s like a million year old! And looks like a giant caterpillar-bird monster.“What? No, not him.” Keith waves his hand at Professor Slav with a disgusted curve to his lips. “Him.” He points not at all surreptitiously at the tall drink of water talking to their professor with a look like he’s trying valiantly to resist his murderous thoughts but failing miserably. Lance raises his eyebrows in reluctant admiration. He’s exactly Keith’s type: tall, buff, and nerdy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so wanted to make a How Harry Met Sally pun for the title but managed to restrain myself. Welcome to the prequel for Keith and Shiro Make a Porno. You don't need to read that one to understand this one though. Minor warning: there are flashbacks to Keith's time in the foster system. There's nothing explicit but Keith does exhibit some signs of past abuse.
> 
> Also, [@circuscrovv](https://twitter.com/circuscrovv) has written some truly amazing haikus for these boys so I'll be editing to add them to the appropriate chapters.
> 
> Feral desert boy,  
> Run and escape to the sand,  
> Bang your beefy nerd.

“I’m going to fuck our teacher.”

Lance sputters helplessly as Keith drops his books on the desk next to him and sits down, looking shell shocked even though he’s the one who just dropped a bomb. “I...you... _what?_ ” Keith shrugs. “But, he’s like a million year old! And kind of looks like a giant caterpillar-bird monster."

“What? No, not him.” Keith waves his hand at Professor Slav with a disgusted curve to his lips. “ _Him._ ” He points not at all surreptitiously at the tall drink of water talking to their professor while wearing an expression like he’s trying valiantly to resist his murderous thoughts but failing miserably. Lance raises his eyebrows in reluctant admiration. He’s exactly Keith’s type: tall, buff, and nerdy.

He still feels the need to question. “First of all, a TA is not the same as a teacher. And second, what makes you so cocky?” Keith’s smile is slow and confident as he slouches in his chair and taps his pen against his lower lip. “Okay, wow. Very informative. Could you maybe stop eyefucking the guy though? I’m feeling very violated right now.” Keith glances at him sideways and sucks the pen between his lips suggestively. Lance groans and drops his head to the desk.

“Hey, everyone. If you could just quiet down, we can get started.” The class quiets as Hunk o’ Beef steps up to the podium and flips through some papers, looking harried. “Great, thanks. Welcome to Astro 160. My name is Takashi Shirogane, and I will be one of the TAs leading discussion groups. Professor Slav had… a situation, so I’ll be going over introductions and the syllabus today.” For a moment, his face creases into something like annoyance before smoothing out into a small smile. “Let’s get started, yeah?”

Lance zones out while Beefcake Shirogane takes attendance, paying attention only long enough to reply with a lazy, “Yo,” when his own name is called. He clues back in when Shirohottie stops short halfway through the roll call.

“Keith, uh...Keith Kogane?” Lance raises an intrigued eyebrow. Did Sexygane just stutter? Better question, is he _blushing?_

Keith bites his lip on a smile and raises two fingers. “Right here.” Tacutie is _definitely_ blushing. He looks like he’s been hit by a brick.

“Oh come on, Mullet’s not _that_ hot,” Lance complains, perhaps a touch too loudly. Titters and whispers fill the awkward silence. He’s not sure who is more red at this point: Keith, Papigane, or himself.

“That’s not, uh. I mean...”  Studgane clears his throat and shuffles his papers, flustered. “Uh, Katelyn Long?”

A pretty blonde girl raises her hand and squeaks, “Here,” and the roll call rolls on. Dorkashi recovers admirably as he starts in on the syllabus, though his eyes slide their way far more than necessary.

Lance drops his head in his hands. “Oh my God, you’re going to fuck our teacher,” he moans.

Keith smiles.

 

***

 

Keith packs up his bag slowly, ignoring Lance’s exasperated huffing and muttering. “You could just leave without me,” he finally says when his grumbles grow too loud.

“And risk the next class getting an eyeful of your pasty ass bent over the desk? I would never do that to them.”

Keith flushes and scowls down at his books. “I’m not that shameless,” he mutters. Lance doesn’t look convinced and Keith can’t entirely blame him; as roommates, he’d been privy to Keith’s freshman slut stage and he’s never quite recovered. Keith scowls, shoving the rest of his stuff into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Whatever, come on.” He bounds down the stairs of the auditorium, joining the last of the stragglers out the door.

He’s almost out the door when he hears his name called. He slows and stops. Lance digs a bony elbow into his ribs as he pushes past. “Don’t forget to put the sock out,” he hisses. Keith rolls his eyes and shoves him away before turning around.

Shirogane is leaning against the teacher’s desk, arms crossed and lips quirked in an abashed smile. Keith stops in front of him, fiddling with the strap of his bag and feeling oddly shy for some reason. “Yes?”

Shirogane stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make him uncomfortable.” Keith blinks at him; that’s not what he was expecting. Keith isn’t quite sure what expression he’s making, but whatever it is makes his brow furrow uncertainly. “I can make sure you’re in Matt’s section for discussion group if you want. I just. Okay, this might sound weird, but I don’t suppose you ever lived on Starlight Lane in Plaht City?”

Keith’s eyes widen and he takes a step back warily. “Why?”

Shirogane breaks into a grin and his eyes sparkle happily. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I lived next door to you.”

Keith sucks in a sharp breath. “Shiro?”

Shiro nods enthusiastically. “That’s me.”

Keith stares at him, brain stalling out. He flicks his eyes up and down Shiro’s brick shithouse of a body. “But...you...big!” he stutters and immediately cringes inwardly. _Smooth, Kogane_.

Shiro blushes and scrubs at the back of his head, laughing. “Yeah, I've definitely grown a bit since high school.”

Understatement of the century. The Shiro he remembers was tall and gangly, all puppy-paw hands and feet, retainer lisp and ears that stuck out too much. _Glow up of the century,_ he thinks faintly. “I called you Stretch Armstrong,” he blurts. “Now you're just, like, arm strong. And ab strong. And Jesus, thigh strong.” He stares maybe a little too long at said thighs. When he finally drags his gaze up to Shiro’s face, he's gone bright red from ears all the way down his throat. Keith smiles slowly, amused. There’s the Shiro he remembers. “No seriously, did you eat Arnold Schwarzenegger?” he teases. “I promise not to tell if you did.”

Shiro laughs loud and and happy, throwing his head back. Keith takes the moment to appreciate the long lines of his throat, smiling helplessly. Shiro’s laugh peters out finally and he shakes his head. “It’s really good to see you again, Keith.”

“Yeah,” Keith says quietly, smiling fondly.

Shiro glances over Keith’s shoulder; students are filing in for the next class, throwing them curious looks. “Ah, sorry to cut this short but…”

Keith steps back and sticks his hands in his pockets. “No, yeah. I’ve got another class anyway. I’ll see you later, I guess?”

Shiro nods, expression falling for a moment before turning hopeful. “I don’t suppose you’d like to get coffee sometime? I’d like to catch up.” Keith personally would prefer breakfast in bed, but he’s not going to say that. Yet.

“I’d like that,” he says instead. “Here, give me your phone.” Shiro digs his phone out of his back pocket and hands it over. Keith programs his number into the phone under the name _Keef_ with a small smirk. Shiro groans when he sees it, but he’s still smiling.

“I’ll text you later,” he promises. Keith gives him a two fingered salute and gets out of there before he says something stupid.

 

***

 

Starlight Lane is foster placement number three and Keith, already defiant and reckless, spends a lot of time crawling out of his window onto the roof so he can look over the edge while contemplating whether he’d break any bones if he jumped and how much it would slow him down when running away. He’s just about ready to take his chances when a voice stops him.

“I wouldn’t. I fell off the roof a couple years ago and ended up with a compound fracture in my leg.”

Keith looks across the way at the house next to them. An older boy is leaning out a window, smiling wryly up at him. Keith studies him suspiciously, taking in the goofy features and weird white streak in his hair. His arm is missing below the elbow. “That how you lost your arm too?” he asks snidely.

The boy glances down at his stump, then back up with a small smile. He doesn’t even look upset about Keith’s rudeness. He shrugs. “Cancer, actually.” Keith hides his wince, feeling guilty but refusing to show it. “You’re Keith, right? I’m Shiro.” The way he says Keith’s name makes it sound more like Keef. What a dork.

“Yeah,” he finally mutters when it becomes clear Shiro will wait as long as it takes for his answer. “What d’you want?”

Shiro leans a little further out the window and glances up. “It’s a nice night,” he says idly. “Not much cloud cover.”

Keith cocks his head and crouches to wrap his arms around his knees, thoughts of escape momentarily forgotten. “So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Shiro grins. It lights up his face and turns his awkward features into something almost handsome. “So, the stars are bright tonight and I have a telescope. Wanna come over?”

Keith bites at his thumb, a wave of melancholy hitting him full force; his dad used to take him stargazing. He shakes it off sharply. “The Smiths aren’t going to let me out, it’s way past curfew.” He sneers the word curfew disdainfully. He’s twelve years old. He doesn’t need random people telling him when he can or can’t go out.

“Let me take care of that,” Shiro says enigmatically before sliding the window shut and disappearing. Intrigued, Keith scurries across the roof and swings back into the room he was given. He sneaks out into the hall and peeks over the stairs railing. Mr. Smith is already at the door and he can hear Shiro on the other side.

“Hi Mr. Smith,” Shiro says, sounding disgustingly innocent.

“Shiro, what brings you over so late?” His foster father’s shoulders have relaxed in a way that they never do around him. Keith wraps his arms around his stomach and backs up a step.

“I was wondering if Keith could come over for a little while? I wanted to show him my telescope.”

“Keith?” Mr. Smith sounds surprised, as if he couldn’t imagine someone like Shiro wanting to hang out with someone like Keith. He looks over his shoulder. Keith scrambles to get out of sight. “Sure, I don’t see why not. Just make sure he’s back by ten.”

“Ten thirty? The view won’t be really good until later.”

Mr. Smith sighs, but it sounds amused. “I suppose that would be okay. Keith?” Keith peeks around the corner and steps out onto the stairs landing, moving his arms up so they’re crossed over his chest instead. A small smile curls his foster father’s lips. Keith scowls back. “Go on, have fun. Remember, ten thirty.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, old man,” he mutters, taking the stairs two at a time and brushing past Mr. Smith carelessly.

“Thanks Mr. Smith,” Shiro calls as he follows Keith off the porch. Keith waits for Shiro to comment on his rude behavior, but he just leads Keith up to a messy bedroom covered with NASA and Star Trek posters, bookshelves filled with science fiction novels and boring looking science textbooks. Airplane models fill a display case in one corner. The guy has space themed sheets and glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. Keith’s original assessment was right, the guy is a total geek. Next to his paper scattered desk is a really expensive looking telescope. Keith whistles. That thing must be worth at least five hundred at a pawn shop, easy.

Shiro steps up next to him, adjusting a prosthesis he must have put on while Keith wasn’t looking. “Come on,” he says, nudging Keith’s shoulder lightly. He grabs the telescope and climbs out the window onto the lower portion of the roof with the ease of someone who’s done it hundreds of times before. Keith follows, watching with raised eyebrows as Shiro spiders quickly along the sloped roof to a plywood platform Keith had never noticed before. When Keith joins him, he’s already got the telescope set up. “Want a drink?” he asks, pointing at a plastic tub sitting in one corner of the platform, a tarp carelessly piled next to it.

“Beer?” Keith tries. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“How about a root beer?” he says dryly. Keith shrugs and crouches so he can pry the tub open, making sure to keep Shiro in his sight as he does. Inside are cans of soda, including the promised root beer, along with some single serving chip bags and a box of Thin Mints. There’s also a blanket and hoodie with a faded NASA symbol stamped on the front. It looks soft, lived in. Warm.“Take whatever you want.”

Keith drags his eyes away and pulls out a soda and the Thin Mints. Shiro pulls back from the telescope for a moment to look at him. “Good choice. When you’re ready, I’ve got the Andromeda Galaxy located."

They stay up on the platform, Shiro pointing out different objects in the sky and talking about them while Keith looks his fill. At 10:25, they reluctantly head back inside and Keith waves off Shiro’s offer to walk him back over. He waits until 10:35 before walking in the front door. Mr. Smith raises an eyebrow at him as he passes the living room, but turns back to the TV without comment. Keith grins to himself. Looks like he just found the perfect meal ticket.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be once a week, probably on Sundays.  
> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
> Tumblr: [Votrashed](https://voltrashed.tumblr.com) (mostly inactive)
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.


	2. Chapter 2

“So wait, this kid is your long lost friend?” Matt plops down on Shiro’s desk, right on top of the left over syllabi for Dr. Slav’s class. Shiro gives him a pointed look; grinning, Matt leans on one hip and pulls them out from under him. He offers them to Shiro who takes them reluctantly. Shiro grimaces. They’re warm from Matt’s butt.

“I wouldn’t say long lost,” Shiro hedges. “We lived next to each other for less than a year. We just...drifted apart, I guess.” More like Keith went radio silent a month after moving halfway across the country to live with long lost relatives, but who’s splitting hairs?

Matt hums thoughtfully, then smirks. “So did he grow up cute?”

Shiro thinks of Keith’s dark, messy hair and deep blue eyes ringed in thick lashes, his broad shoulders and wicked smile, and chooses to deflect. “Not the point, Matty. I made a complete idiot out of myself today.”

“Which you wouldn’t have done if he wasn’t cute. You’re the most competent person I know until you get in front of a hot guy and turn into Disaster Gay Supreme.”

Shiro flicks his pen at Matt, who fends it off with a laugh. “Shut up. And where were you today when Slav was foisting his class off on me, huh?”

Matt shrugs and plucks one of the syllabi up to look it over idly. “No need for both of us to be there. So did you get his number?” Shiro sighs. Clearly he’s not going to let this go.

“We’re going to get coffee on friday,” he admits.

Matt looks up from the paper plane he’s crafting from the syllabus with a sly grin. “Dating your student? Naughty naughty, Professor Shirogane.” Shiro groans, exasperated.

“It’s not like that. And we aren’t professors, Matt.”

“Does Dr. Slav know that?,” Matt says dryly.

Shiro is starting to wonder that himself. He grunts. “We’re going to regret taking these positions, aren’t we?”

“Oh, without a doubt. But at least you get an _old friend_ out of it.” Matt throws the airplane. It glides smoothly out the open office door and disappears down the hall. Shiro watches its path longingly, wishing he could follow.

***

Keith sits at one of the small tables in his favorite coffee shop, playing with his coffee cup and trying not to vibrate out of his skin as he waits for Shiro to show up.

A hand drops on Keith’s shoulder and he jumps a foot in the air with a yelp. Hunk lets go and stares down at him disapprovingly. “Keith. Buddy, pal, old friend, you’re making people nervous. If you don’t stop acting like a jonesing crack addict, I’m going to have to cut you off.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but forces his leg to still and his shoulders to relax. “Sorry.” He glances out the window and then down at his phone. There are still five more minutes before the time they agreed to meet up.

“Buddy, you need to relax. He’ll be here, okay?”

“I know,” Keith says with a sigh, slouching in his seat. Shiro always shows up, is always there for you, and Keith doubts that has changed in the seven years they were apart. No, what he’s anticipating and maybe fearing is the conversation. The catching up, the how have you been.

The where did you go. Questions he’d rather skip right past to get to the here and now. He looks back down at his phone. Four more minutes. He sighs again and pulls his coffee cup towards him, only to have Hunk pluck it straight out of his hands. “Hey!”

Hunk tsks and holds it out of reach. “No more caffeine for you. I’ll bring you a danish. Cherry right?” Keith wants to be mad, but Hunk’s cherry danishes are orgasm worthy.

“Yeah, fine,” he mutters, and tears into the danish when Hunk sets it in front of him.

Hunk shakes his head, disbelieving. “Do you even taste them?” Keith shrugs and pops the last piece into his mouth. Hunk takes the plate, grumbling, and Keith looks back at his phone. One more minute.

He’s put out of his misery by the twinkling of the bell over the door. He whips his head around and can’t help the way he lights up as Shiro enters. He’s covered in a fine mist, dampening and weighing down his longer forelock and adding a glistening sheen to his forehead and cheeks. Keith wants to groan. Of course the man glows. When he spots Keith he grins, bright and happy just like Keith remembers. He watches him approach with his heart in his throat. He stands to greet him. There’s an awkward moment where he’s not sure whether they are supposed to hug, or shake hands, or just wave or something. Shiro settles the dilemma by reaching out and clasping a warm hand over Keith’s shoulder, squeezing for a moment before letting go. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Keith echoes back.

“Do you want a coffee? My treat.” Keith debates arguing, but Shiro is a stubborn mule about things like this so he just nods. “Three sugars and more cream than coffee, right?”

Keith laughs, oddly touched that Shiro still remembers his coffee order. “Slightly less cream now that someone isn’t worried about stunting my growth,” he teases.

Shiro brings his hand up to measure him against his own height. “Looks like I was right,” he says with a smirk. Keith whaps him on the shoulder in retaliation.

“Hunk knows my order,” he says rather than address his (perfectly normal, thank you) height. Shiro nods and Keith sits as he goes up to order. He drums his fingers nervously on the table and nearly jumps when Shiro brushes past him and sets two cups and a plate with another pastry on the table.

“Uh, the guy at the counter, Hunk? He made you chamomile tea because he wasn’t, and I quote, going to support your habit anymore?” Shiro gives him a questioning look and Keith flushes, cursing Hunk inwardly. Shiro snorts and pushes the pastry towards him. “He gave you this as apology though, said to make sure you actually taste it this time.”

“Pushy,” Keith mutters, but he’s not going to look a gift pastry in the mouth. “Want some?” he offers, even though it goes against every instinct to share. Shiro seems to remember that as well, because he smiles softly as he shakes his head.

“No thanks. So how’ve you been?” And here comes the awkward small talk. Keith frowns.

“Can we skip this?” Shiro cocks his head, confused. “The whole _how bout them Yankees, this weather is crazy_ bullshit.”

Shiro watches him with that same piercing stare that never fails to make Keith feel seen in a way he’s not used to. He takes a drink of his tea, relishing the distracting burn along his tongue and down his throat. Shiro’s lips curl in a small smile. He takes a sip of his own coffee. “So, astrophysics, huh?”

Keith’s shoulders drop and he huffs out a laugh. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been. “Yeah, well, someone sparked my interest back when I was a kid.”

Shiro leans forward and rests his chin in his hand. “I’m really glad,” he says earnestly. “You had...have such potential.”

Keith ignores the way the praise sends a flush of pleasure through him even though he’s sure it’s evident on his cheeks. “So, grad school, huh? You going to go for your PhD?”

Shiro nods, excited, then wilts a little. “Well, if I can manage to get through this semester as a TA without murdering Dr. Slav.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Shiro groans and leans back in his chair. “Oh, you’ll see,” he says ominously.

Keith points a finger at him. “That is not reassuring, Stretch.” The old nickname tumbles from his lips so easily, even if it in no way, shape, or form applies anymore. Shiro's lips quirk up in a pleased little grin before he schools his face back into a serious expression.

“It’s not meant to be.”

Conversation flows between them and it doesn’t take long before they’ve fallen back into their old easy camaraderie. To Keith’s relief, they steer away from topics about the past, sticking to trading stories about roommate antics and talking about the stars. Keith is startled to look up after what feels like minutes and finds that it’s gone dark outside. He glances at his phone; they’d been talking for three hours. Shiro notices and looks at his own phone. He winces. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize it’d gotten so late.”

“Do you have stuff to do?” Keith asks, half hoping he’ll say no so he can suggest moving on to real drinks. Unfortunately Shiro nods, looking regretful.

“I still have to put together questions for the discussion group.”

Keith bites his lip and smiles, putting on his best bedroom eyes. “We should do this again, maybe dinner and drinks next time,” he suggests.

Shiro sobers, brow creasing as he frowns. “Keith,” he starts, but Keith interrupts.

“As friends, of course.” He smiles innocently.

Shiro wrinkles his nose, smelling bullshit from a mile away. “Keith, I’m your teacher.”

“Teacher’s Assistant,” he counters stubbornly.

Shiro purses his lips and shakes his head firmly. “It’s still inappropriate. Technically we probably shouldn’t be hanging out at all, since it could be seen as favoritism.”

Keith’s stomach drops and he forces himself not to show his disappointment. He should have guessed this whole reunion thing was more superficial than he’d hoped. “Oh.” He gathers his mug and plate together. “It, uh, it was nice seeing you again. I should probably go though. Homework.”

Shiro stands as he does, looking troubled. “Do you want to do coffee again? Maybe next week?” he asks hopefully as they drop off their dishes.

Keith smiles, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Shiro’s frown deepens. “It’s fine, Shiro. Maybe next semester, huh?”

“Don’t,” Shiro says sharply. It’s enough to surprise Keith into looking directly at him. There’s a storm brewing in his eyes. “Don’t do that, just shut down. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

Keith shrinks, thoroughly chastised. “Sorry,” he says softly, looking down at his feet.

A hand settles gently on his shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t apologize. Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

Keith glances up, catches Shiro’s warm smile, and returns one of his own. It’s small, but genuine. “So, coffee then? Same time next week?”

Shiro’s smile splits into a grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Keith watches his retreating back until it disappears into the night, then waves goodbye to Hunk and heads home. He wanders aimlessly around the apartment, full of nervous energy. There's an odd curl of anxiety in his stomach that sits badly with the pastries and tea already there. He huffs out a sharp breath and scrubs his fingers roughly through his hair, then stomps towards his room. He digs in the back of his closet and pulls out the battered cardboard box that goes with him everywhere but rarely gets opened. He pulls the top flaps apart and digs through it until his hand hits fabric. He pulls it out carefully, removing the items he’d wrapped it around for safekeeping and holds it up in front of him. The faded NASA symbol stares back at him, looking the same it as it had eight years ago.

  
***

Shiro knows Keith is using him as a way out of the Smiths’ house, but he doesn’t really care. Neither do the Smiths, judging by the way they let Keith come and go as he pleases as long as Shiro is with him. As far as he can tell, the kid has no other friends even though his last home had been in the same school district. He’s not entirely surprised; befriending Keith is like caring for a wounded animal. It wants to be helped but it doesn’t know that, nor that that’s all you’re trying to do. Shiro gets snapped at a lot those first few weeks. Each time he pulls back to a non threatening distance and waits until Keith calms and he can inch forward another few paces. Someday, he hopes he’ll be able to get close enough to tend the wounds.

Keith makes a frustrated sound from where he's sprawled out on Shiro’s floor trying to write an English essay. Shiro drops his pen from between his nose and top lip and spins in his desk chair. “Need help?”

Keith groans, shoving his textbook and notes away. “I hate symbolism. Why can’t people just say what they mean?”

Shiro grunts sympathetically. “It helps to look at it like a word problem,” he offers.

Keith blows a raspberry and flips on his back to stare at the glow stars on Shiro’s ceiling. “Whatever,” he mutters as he traces the path of one of the constellations with a finger. “I’ll do it later.”

Doubtful, but this is not a hill Shiro is willing to die on. He turns back to his own math problems, only vaguely aware as Keith putters around his room, pulling out books and putting them back, fiddling with his models, drawing no doodles that are probably explicit on Shiro’s whiteboard. He'll have to remember to erase them before his mom or grandpa happen to see. He pauses for a moment when he feels Keith’s warmth next to him and his breath gross and damp against his ear. He makes a face. “Yes?” he drawls as he goes back to his work. Keith leans over him, digging his stupidly sharp chin into Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro doesn’t try to shove him off; Keith touching anyone is rare and Shiro doesn’t want to discourage it. Even if it hurts.

“Whatcha doin’?” Keith asks.

“Calculus.” Keith pulls away, but only to reach around and pick up his AP Calculus textbook. Shiro bites his lip and pushes down the small twinge of annoyance he feels. He just wants to get this problem set done so he can be finished with homework for the night. “I kind of need that you know, if we plan on getting in some stargazing time.”

Keith hums. He sets the book back down and picks up the first sheet of Shiro’s problem set. Shiro goes back to his work. He finally finishes the last problem with a sigh of relief. He likes math, but that doesn’t mean he _likes_ math.

Keith has gone suspiciously quiet. Shiro half expects him to be gone when he turns around, but finds Keith hunched over the stolen homework page, Shiro’s clunky old laptop next to him as he scribbles on a piece of scratch paper. Shiro cocks his head. “What’re you doing?”

“Tearing my hair out in frustration,” Keith complains. Shiro plops down on his bed next to him, ignoring the glare thrown his way as the mattress bounces. He turns the laptop around. Keith has calculus tutorials pulled up.

“Well no wonder,” he says with a small laugh, shaking his head. “Even I’m not this far along yet.” Keith groans and flops back on the bed, grinding his palms into his eyes. “Why are you even trying to learn this?”

Keith sighs. “My math’s so boring. I’ve already worked through the whole textbook for the year and now I just sit there and look out the window. I was hoping this might be more fun.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, surprised. Even he doesn’t do math for fun. He thinks for a moment, then gets up and goes over to his bookshelf. He debates for a moment before pulling out his old algebra text. “Here,” he says, handing it over to Keith. “Maybe start here first and see how it goes.”

Keith flips through it, trying for disinterested and missing it by a mile. He gets up to shove the book into his backpack. “Sure, whatever. I’ll take a look, I guess.”

Shiro turns away to hide his smile, looking out the window. “Looks like it’s dark enough now, want to go out?” Keith has the window open and one leg over the ledge before Shiro even finishes the sentence. He huffs out a laugh. “Okay then, guess that’s a yes.” Keith flips him off before disappearing. Shiro follows him with the telescope.

They’ve developed something like a routine in the last couple months. Shiro sets up the telescope while Keith sets out the blanket and chooses the snacks and beverages for the evening. Tonight’s menu includes a couple cans of barbeque Pringles, Pop Tarts, and Capri Sun pouches. Keith tosses him a pouch once he’s finished with the telescope. Shiro sits next to him and pokes his straw into the drink, grimacing as punch inevitably spills out around the straw. Keith snickers. “You always do that,” he says.

Shiro shrugs nonchalantly. “You try opening it when you’ve got no feeling in one hand,” he says, holding the prosthesis up. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Please, I’ve seen you put together one of those models. That arm has nothing to do with it.” Shiro shrugs again and licks the juice from his fingers. They fall into a comfortable silence as they wait for their eyes to adjust, broken only by the crunching of chips and slurping of drinks. Shiro never interrupts Keith when he’s eating, for fear of him accidentally choking as he inhales his snacks. Shiro wordlessly offers his own can of chips when Keith finishes. Keith hesitates, eyes caught on the tube, then turns away stubbornly. Shiro sets the can down between them and lays back, crossing his arms behind his head to stare at the sky. He suppresses a smile when he hears crunching a few moments later.

He glances over when he feels Keith shiver. He’s sitting with his knees drawn close, arms caught tight between them and his chest. As Shiro watches, another shiver trembles through Keith’s too thin frame, clad only shorts and a t shirt. It’s early October and even though the days are still warm, the desert air has taken on the cool crispness of fall. Shiro sits up. “Cold?”

“No.” He shivers again and curls in on himself further with a scowl. “I’m fine,” he amends.

Shiro stands and opens the supply tub. He pulls out his dad’s old NASA hoodie and dumps it on Keith’s head, taking a perverse pleasure in his outraged squawk. Keith pulls the offending item off his head. “What the hell, Stretch?”

“Jiichan will kill me if you get sick. Just put it on.” He leans over to look through the telescope while Keith grumbles behind him. When he locates what he’s looking for, he turns back to Keith and tries to swallow down a snort. The hoodie is huge on him, nearly reaching his knees. The sleeves go well past his hands and the hood swallows up his head. Keith pouts out from its depths and Shiro can’t hold it back anymore. He bursts into helpless peals of laughter.

“Shut up!” Keith complains, but he’s flapping the sleeves at him and biting his lip to hide a smile. “It’s not my fault this thing is made for a giant.”

Shiro’s laughter peters out into a few chuckles as he rests his hand over his aching stomach. “You’re not wrong. My dad was 6’5” and almost three hundred pounds. That thing is big on me too. It’s warm though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits grudgingly as he folds the sleeves up.

Shiro waves him over. “Here, look.”

Keith peers through the telescope. “Whoa, what's that huge blob?”

“That’s the Comet Holmes.” Shiro looks up at the sky. He doesn't even need the telescope to see it, but with it, the comet is truly amazing.

Keith pulls back sharply to fix Shiro with a suspicious look. “You shitting me?” Shiro purses his lips in disapproval and Keith rolls his eyes, muttering the word _nerd_. “Fine, are you kidding me?”

Shiro smiles and looks back up, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Nope. It wasn't much to look at before, but it's brightened up like crazy in the last day or so.” Keith’s eyes widen with awe and he looks back through the telescope. In his excitement, he knocks against it. The telescope wobbles. “Careful!” Shiro reaches quickly to steady it.

“Shit!” Keith jumps back as if burned. He hunches in on himself defensively, fists curled in the sweatshirt and pressed tight to his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

Shiro backs up a step, shocked at Keith’s intense reaction. He holds his hands up. “Whoa, hey, I know. It’s okay, really.” Keith’s shoulders relax just the slightest bit even though he crosses his arms tight over his chest and averts his eyes. Shiro tries a different tack. “Actually, this works out well. Now you get to learn how to find it for yourself.”

“What,” Keith says flatly. Shiro gestures at the telescope. Keith shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” When Keith keeps shaking his head, he sighs. “At least give it a try. You’ll never know what you can achieve until you do.”

Keith rubs at his forehead. “You sound like a fortune cookie,” he says, but tentatively returns to his side. “How do I do this?”

Shiro guides him through focusing the telescope and finding objects using landmarks in the sky. He grins widely when Keith crows triumphantly upon locating the comet again. “See? Told you that you could do it.” Keith’s smile when he pulls back is wide and joyful and hits Shiro like a ton of bricks. It’s the first time he’s seen him look truly happy.

He decides right then that his new mission in life is to make Keith smile like that again, as often as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
> Tumblr: [Votrashed](https://voltrashed.tumblr.com) (mostly inactive)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of a roller coaster guys. This chapter is what earns the E rating, but is also heavy on the angst. If you'd prefer to keep things light and simple, you can skip the childhood flashback. Warning for discussions of the foster system and the emotional effects.

When Lance comes home Keith is firmly ensconced on the couch in the tiny living room of their dorm suite, chewing on a chunk of Hunk’s beef jerky and watching 80’s cartoons on Netflix. He grunts as Lance rolls over the back of the couch and lands on him in a cloud of booze and sweat and the overly floral scent of some girl’s perfume. “Heeeey buddy,” Lance drawls, nearly smacking Keith in the face. “Y’shoulda come out with us, ‘stead of moping around here like a big ol' lump of broody angst.”

“I’m not broody, mopey, or angsty,” Keith tells him, firmly ignoring the fact that he’s currently feeling all three. Lance’s snort sounds like an angry goose honk. Keith rolls his eyes and shoves and kicks until Lance falls off him with a yelp, taking Keith’s blanket with him. He sits up, mouth open to no doubt bitch at him, but it snaps shut and slides into a little smirk as he looks Keith up and down.

“Nice hoodie.” Keith huddles down into it, pulling his knees a little further up into the voluminous space of the hoodie. He’s added eight years, six inches, and a good fifty pounds, but the thing still drapes over him like a tent. He sinks down a little further when Lance starts to leer. The fabric covers his mouth, but he’s become quite adept at sneering at Lance with just his eyes.

Unfortunately, Lance has become equally adept at completely ignoring his sneers because his grin just gets bigger and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “You look like an idiot,” Keith tells him.

“And you look like you’re wearing your linebacker boyfriend’s hoodie. Does this mean you got dicked down by Professor Papigane?” Keith flushes and kicks but Lance is surprisingly quick for his inebriated state and catches his ankle. “Is that a yes? That’s totally a yes, isn’t it?”

“No,” Keith growls. He yanks his foot back but Lance holds on for dear life and yanks back, revealing rather more leg than either of them would probably prefer. Lance’s eyes widen comically.

“Dude, are you even wearing anything under there?”

“Of course I am!” Anything more than underwear had just seemed unnecessary when wearing the equivalent of a nightgown. Keith reverses tactics and plants his foot in Lance’s face, shoving him away. “And no, we didn’t have sex. We aren’t going to.”

Lance rolls away from him and sprawls just out of reach. “Says the guy who announced to the classroom and world at large that he was going to fuck the teacher.”

Keith sighs and draws his knees back up so he can wrap his arms around them and rest his chin on top. He's always felt safest when curled up, small and protective of his vulnerable insides. “That’s before I knew who he was.”

Lance pushes himself up onto his elbows to stare at him, unconvinced. “Last I knew, your little childhood romance with him only made you want to tap that ass even more.”

Keith sputters, “I...we weren’t...it wasn’t like that back then!”

“Yeah, yeah, Keefy wuved his Shiwo and it was adorable and sweet and innocent. Whatever. What I want to know is what made you suddenly decide you don’t want him now?”

Apparently this is a conversation they are going to have. Keith sighs and leans over to pause the Netflix. “I didn’t say that I don’t want him, I said it wasn’t going to happen.”

Lance sits up all the way, some of his mirth falling away. “Why not?” He frowns. “Did he turn into an asshole? Should I kick his ass for you? I’m pretty sure I’ll break my fist on his abs, but I’m willing to try.”

Keith snorts but can’t help but feel just the tiniest bit of fondness for his roommate. The smallest bit. More of a smidge, really. “He’s not an asshole. He’s even better than I remember.” He says the last on a sigh, melancholy taking hold of him again. He rubs his nose against the fabric over his knees, pretending he can still smell autumn and junk food and wisps of too much Axe body spray there instead of stale cardboard.

Lance crawls over to him and climbs up the couch to sit next to him, mirroring his position. “What’s going on, Mullet?”

Keith wrinkles his nose at the name, but turns his head to look at him all the same. “He’s not interested. He blamed it on the whole TA thing, but it was probably just an excuse.” He shakes his head, trying to shake off the mood. “But it’s fine. We’re friends again. What more could I ask for?”

“Uh, how about some of that T and A? And lots of that D? I’m disappointed in you, Mullet. I’ve never known you to just give up on the things you want, and you _want_ him. Hell, I want him, and I’m like 90% straight. And,” Lance leans into Keith’s personal space, breathing beer breath all over him, “I caught him checking out your ass during discussion group. He definitely wants you too.”

Keith isn’t quite sure he believes that, but it does send a small thrill of hope through him. “He could get in trouble,” he counters anyway. “If it was some random guy, I wouldn’t care, but this is _Shiro_.” Shiro, who he knows he hurt before but who seems to have forgiven him and want him around anyway. He can’t hurt him again. But Lance just waves his hand around.

“It’s not that big a deal, people do it all the time and no one really cares as long as you’re discreet about it.” Keith stays quiet, dubious. “If you’re that worried about it, you can always wait until you’re out of his class and then go for it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t start wooing him in the meantime.”

“Who even says woo anymore,” Keith grouses, but Lance’s words are niggling into his brain to nestle up against the images of Shiro in his tight tee shirt and bright smile, the feeling of his hand on his shoulder and how it might feel elsewhere.

Lance, oblivious to the turn Keith’s thoughts have taken, wiggles his fingers at him. “Wooooo him Keithy boy. Wooooo hiiiiim.”

“Oh my god, just shut up,” Keith says with a laugh, pushing him away once more. Lance falls back easily, twisting so he can drape himself over the rest of the couch. “I’m going back to Transformers now.” Lance makes a happy noise, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions and taking the baggie of jerky when Keith offers. Keith unpauses the TV, but he can’t concentrate. Lance’s words and his conversation with Shiro are playing on repeat, like a bad top 40’s radio station. He gives up completely when Lance’s snores start to drown out the corny dialogue. With a sigh, he turns it off and tucks his discarded blanket over Lance before retreating to their room. He’s looking forward to a sleep uninterrupted by Lance’s snoring and mumbling.

Unfortunately, his body doesn’t agree with him, still wired and restless. He tosses and turns for a good hour, listening as their suitemates slowly filter in and eventually disappear into their own rooms. He envies Lance for being able to sleep through all that, for being able to sleep at all. Maybe he should see whether the bottle of vodka they’d liberated from a frat party a few weeks ago is still in the freezer.

He flips over onto his back, pillowing his head on one arm and drumming against his stomach with the other. Like every other quiet moment in the last week, his thoughts inevitably drift back to Shiro. His smile and the way he lights up while talking about his PhD studies. How he laughs at something funny Keith has said or his own dumb jokes, full-bodied and free, head thrown back and throat on full display like he’s never known what it is to be prey. He wants to wrap his hand around it and feel the vibrations of his joy. Maybe press his lips to his Adam’s apple and feel it move as he swallows back a moan. Bite and mark and be marked back.

His hand has slowly crept down his stomach without conscious thought. He pauses, presses his hand against his belly, just a whisper above where he’s already hard.

There’s more than one way to tire himself out.

He barely hesitates a moment before moving his hand down further, skirting his aching cock to run fingers along his thigh. He brushes feather light along the coarse hairs on his inner thigh, slow and and teasing. Every few passes, he runs his pinky or thumb just under the hemline of his underwear trunks. He closes his eyes as he drifts back up along the crease of his thigh and belly, pushing the sweatshirt up as he goes. Images of Shiro’s wide shoulders, his dexterous hands and the thick fingers of his state-of-the-art prosthesis imprint themselves on the backs of his eyelids. They would feel so good stretching him open, three deep and pushing him to his boundaries. Maybe even beyond.

Keith palms himself, imagining Shiro’s lips, soft and wide and inviting. He’s probably a tease, with the way he always touts patience. He’d kiss up Keith’s body, sucking marks into his skin. Keith follows the trail up under the worn, soft fabric of the sweatshirt, pinching lightly in mimicry of bites. He circles one nipple and pinches, letting out a small gasp as he presses his other hand against the head of his cock. He shifts restlessly as twin sparks of pleasure shoot through him. His underwear goes wet with precome under his hand.

Fuck patience. Keith pushes his underwear down under his balls and takes himself in hand, giving one rough pump that's barely eased by the precome. He fumbles with the drawers tucked under his bed and pulls out the bottle of lube stashed there. He pauses, hand hovering over the vibrator hidden under his socks but ultimately decides against it. Lance may be passed out on the couch, but there’s always a chance he could wake up and walk in and that is _not_ something he wants to think about right now.

He kicks his trunks off as he rolls back onto his bed, bending his knees and letting them fall open. He drizzles lube on his hand and palms himself. He spreads it slow with light, teasing movements, thinking of Shiro’s lips stretched wide around him, beautiful gray eyes watering with the effort of taking him to the root. Would he gag, throat milking him as it spasms? Or would he take it like a pro, let Keith face fuck him with a fist full of those long white bangs. Keith can’t decide which he prefers, so he moves on, fondling his balls and perineum before pressing a finger still tacky with leftover lube against his hole. Just lightly for now, teasing himself with the anticipation of penetration. He wraps his other hand back around his cock and pumps slowly as he presses a little harder, burying his finger in up to the first knuckle.

There’s not enough lube for it to go in smoothly but he relishes the burn as he pushes the rest of the way in. He pulls out almost immediately and returns with two fingers. It’s too much too fast but he doesn’t care. Two of his fingers is about the same as one of Shiro’s prosthetic fingers and the realization makes him groan way too loudly for dorm room walls. He curses and stuffs the sweatshirt into his mouth to try and muffle the sounds but it honestly just turns him on even more. He spreads his legs open as wide as he can. One falls off the narrow bed but he just presses his toes into the floor and uses the leverage to push his hips off the bed, fucking up into his hand as he works his fingers in and out.

Pleasure spirals higher, tightening his stomach and building in his groin until he’s swallowing down whimpers, imagining it’s Shiro taking him apart. He pushes in as deep as he can go, flirting at the rim with a third finger as he rubs relentlessly against his prostate. He bites down hard on fabric as pleasure crests and he shudders through orgasm. He collapses back on the bed, spent and deliciously sore as he pulls his fingers out. He goes to wipe his hand off on his shirt and stops dead.

He’s still wearing Shiro’s sweatshirt. Scratch that, he’s still wearing Shiro’s _dead father’s_ sweatshirt that Shiro had given him in good faith. And he’d just come all over it.

Keith groans again as guilt swamps him. He throws an arm over his eyes and curses vehemently. Then he jumps up from his bed and strips off the sweatshirt. He wipes himself off with the discarded underwear and stuffs them and the hoodie into his gym duffel along with his laundry detergent and roll of quarters. Then he throws on a pair of sweats and slinks down to the laundry room, steps heavy with shame.

 

***

 

The Smiths and Shiro are acting weird and it sets Keith on edge. His nails are bitten to the quick and beyond, sore from the abuse. He pushes his surprise pancakes around his plate unenthusiastically. Mrs. Smith never makes pancakes, much less ones with chocolate and peanut butter chips. Mrs. Smith doesn’t make breakfast in general, unless you count burnt toast or microwave oatmeal.

“Do you not like them?” she asks. There’s a concerned dip between her eyebrows and a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her lips. “I know you like Reeses so I thought…”

Great. Now he feels bad for making her worry. He forks up a giant mouthful and forces himself to swallow even though it sits in his stomach like a lump of concrete. “S’good,” he mumbles through another bite. He takes a gulp of milk to clear his throat and chokes out, “Thanks,” in a voice almost too quiet to hear.

Mrs. Smith’s mouth drops open briefly in surprise before she smiles widely. “Good, I’m glad.” Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. The ball of lead in his stomach grows. Shit. Something is definitely going on.

He manages a few more bites before his stomach rebels. He pushes the plate away. “I’m going to be late for the bus.”

“Actually, Tom and I were thinking you could play hooky today.” Mrs. Smith’s smile is just a touch mischievous. “We could go see that Zorro movie, maybe go shopping for clothes after. I noticed those are getting a bit small on you. We can make a whole day of it. What d'you say?”

Keith’s throat closes and he feels nauseous. “No,” he says, too loud and too harsh. Mrs. Smith looks stunned. He pushes away from the table and turns around so she can’t see the way his lips tremble. _Get yourself under control,_ he snarls to himself. He bites his lip hard enough to hurt. “They’re checking our science projects. I need to get to school.” He needs to get away. Every second and every act of kindness wraps his anxiety tighter and tighter around him, crushing him under the pressure. He practically runs to the door, scooping up his backpack next to the front door. “Bye,” he shouts, then slams the door behind him.

He stays quiet on the bus, fixes his eyes firmly on the floor and curls up small in the front seat rather than in the back like he usually does. He doesn’t even look up when a few guys he sometimes talks to at school greet him, grunting rather than trying to force words out of the pinhole his throat has become. They're probably giving him weird looks, but they leave him to his solitude so he doesn't care. When he gets off the bus, he scurries through the front doors of the building without so much as glancing towards the high school half of the K-12 campus. He slinks through the halls and tries to stay as invisible as possible.

Shiro still finds him. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head curiously. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.” He’s wearing a cheap looking cape, hair slicked back and a set of plastic fangs in one hand. Keith suddenly realizes that he’s one of the few kids not wearing a costume. It’s Halloween. He’d completely forgotten.

This day just keeps getting better and better. He glares at Shiro. “What are you doing on this side of the school, anyway?” he snaps. “Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your friends?”

Shiro just blinks at him. “I _am_ hanging out with my friend.”

He sounds pathetically earnest. Keith wants to scream. Instead he looks Shiro up and down and asks,  “Aren’t you too old for dress up?”

Shiro grins and pops the teeth into his mouth. “You’re never too old to dress up.” He slurs even worse than he does with his retainer. Keith looks away. He hasn’t so much as looked at a costume since his dad died, even though the Smiths offered to buy him one.

Dread crashes back down around him again at the thought of his foster parents. “What did you mean, you didn’t expect me to be here today?”

Shiro looks away evasively. “I just thought you’d be hanging out with Mrs. Smith.” He refuses to meet Keith’s eyes. Keith feels sick.

“Well I’m not,” he growls. He turns back to his locker and yanks his history textbook out. “Go back to the high school, Shiro.”

“Keith,” Shiro starts, but Keith cuts him off with the slam of his locker door.

“Go. _Away.”_

Shiro is quiet. Keith thinks he must have left but when he turns around, Shiro is staring at him, hurt written all over his face. “Okay,” he says quietly. “See you later, I guess.” Keith watches him leave, refusing to blink lest the tears filling his eyes spill over. He is such a piece of shit.

The warning bell rings. Keith’s stomach lurches. He drops his book, ignoring the stares and whispers as he shoves his way through the crowd and into the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet stall before he gags and the pancakes are pushed out of his body to make way for the coiling mass of guilt and fear and anger. When his stomach is empty, he spits bile and collapses to the nasty bathroom floor. He knows what this is. There’s only one reason the Smiths and Shiro would be acting like this.

He’s about to be sent away.

 

***

 

He doesn’t go to class. He waits in the bathroom until the echoes of laughter and footsteps fade, then picks himself up and sneaks out of the building. He scales the chain link fence easily. His feet barely hit the dirt before he’s off and running, backpack bumping against his tailbone with every step. The school is on the edge of the town, so it doesn’t take him long to hit red dirt and scrub land. He’s not sure where he’s going but he knows if he stays in town, someone will probably see him and report him for truancy. Luckily, he’s still pretty sure he knows the way to his father’s old observation shack, so he’s not too worried as he plods along with heavy footsteps and heavier heart.

When he gets far enough away that the town is little more than a faint outline in the distance, he stops and swings his backpack off, squatting to take inventory. Four bottles of water, six boxes worth of protein bars, dozens of packets of single serve oatmeal, and an assortment of other snacks he’d managed to surreptitiously squirrel away from Shiro’s stash when he wasn’t looking. Sixty three dollars saved from his lunch money. Compass, flashlight, firestarter with plastic baggie of tinder, and the knife his father claimed was his mother’s. The last bit of space is taken up with one of those emergency blankets and a folded up tarp.

Keith doesn’t carry books in his bag. He carries a survival kit.

He repacks everything carefully. If he’s stingy, the food will last him a couple weeks, maybe more. The problem will be water and the steep drop in temperature come nighttime. The shack will cut down on wind but he doesn’t remember it doing much for the cold during their weekend camping trips and he’d be sacrificing the ability to build a fire if he stays inside. At least he can probably sneak back into the school at night to refill his water bottles.

Keith’s eyes sting and his vision goes wavery. He slaps one cheek harshly. No crying in the desert. Not when every drop of fluid is critical. He sniffs hard and wipes his nose on his sleeve before standing and shouldering the bag again. Then he heads in the direction he remembers the shack being.

 

***

 

Keith is laid out on the flat rock in front of the shack, soaking up as much of the lingering heat from the day as he can and trying to pick out the constellations Shiro had taught him. He’s tracing Ursa Minor over and over with his eyes, shivering and wishing he’d never returned Shiro’s heavy sweatshirt, when he’s startled by the crunch of wheels and the slice of headlights over the scenery. He scrambles to his feet, knife in hand and ready for whoever is trespassing on his camp.

The lights are near blinding as they fall over him; he uses his free hand to block it out. He blinks owlishly as the lights cut off, trying to see through light blobs to the person hopping out of the car. He can’t see much and panic rises in his chest until starlight catches briefly on a metal hand. Keith’s stomach sinks and soars at the same time as he tucks his knife back in the holster he’d clipped to his pants. “How’d you find me?”

Shiro stops several feet away. Keith can just pick out the grim downturn of his lips in the light coming from the quarter moon. “You talked about your dad’s shack once and my dad used to keep a survey of man made structures out here. I put two and two together and took a gamble.” His lips turn down even more. “This is the fourth site I’ve checked.”

Guilt swirls and mixes with anger, setting his chest alight. “Yeah, well, you wasted your time because I don’t want you here.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Shiro says tersely. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t fucking care.”

Keith gapes at him. He’s never heard Shiro curse, much less use the F word. His chest hitches and his eyes water dangerously. He turns away. _No crying in the desert._ “What d’you want?” His voice comes out raspy and wet, plaintive. He grits his teeth.

“I want to know why you ran away.” He sounds so angry. Keith’s chest hitches again and he bites his lip til it bleeds. “Do you have any idea how worried the Smiths are? How worried I was? Do you even give a shit, or are you just that selfish?”

Keith spins around, fists clenched and furious. “Please, like any of _you_ give a shit!” he spits. 

Shiro flinches back as if struck. “What do you mean?” He sounds so confused, looks so small even though he towers over Keith.

Keith loses the fight against tears. He stomps toward the shack, furiously dashing them away with his fist. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell them I’m not dead and then leave me alone.”

Shiro grabs his bicep to stop him. Keith tries to yank it free but Shiro is bizarrely strong and he holds fast. “No. _What do you mean?_ ”

“They’re getting rid of me!” he explodes. His voice echoes across the landscape. He struggles against Shiro’s grip, heart jackrabbiting and breath panicky. “ _LET GO!_ ”

Shiro releases him so suddenly that he stumbles back. His legs crumple and he lets himself sink to the ground so he can hide his face in his knees. He can’t seem to catch his breath. He barely hears the scrape of feet over the pounding in his ears.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice is gentle. Too gentle. It scrapes at all the raw parts of him he tries so hard to hide away. Every time he thinks they’ve scabbed over, something rips them right back open and lays him bare. Vulnerable.

He’s tired. Just. So, so tired of being an open, infected wound no one cares enough to heal.

“Keith. Talk to me, please. Why would you think anyone is getting rid of you?”

Keith sniffs hard but doesn’t raise his head. He doesn’t want to see Shiro. Doesn’t want Shiro to see him. “Because everyone does, eventually,” he sighs into his knees. “I know the signs. The bad ones just toss you out and you’re glad to go. But the good ones are worse. First they treat you super nice. Then they sit you down and say they’re sorry but it’s just not the right fit, we know you’ll find the perfect family, you’ll be okay, blah blah _fucking_ blah.” He gulps back more tears but his voice still wobbles embarrassingly. “The Smiths are _good._ You’re good. I don’t want to go.”

“So you ran away?”

Keith laughs brokenly and finally looks up. Shiro is sitting in front of him, position mirroring Keith’s. He looks impossibly sad, but there's no pity in his gaze. Something in him settles, an eye in the storm that threatens to drown him. “It’s going to happen anyways, might as well do it on my own terms.” He swallows hard and looks back at his damp knees. “I’d rather be alone than go to another foster home,” he whispers.

“Oh. Keith.” Shiro sounds like he’s trying to hold back tears of his own. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Keith looks up, surprised. No one has ever asked him that before. They usually just… do it. “I guess?”

Shiro shuffles over to his side and wraps a careful arm around Keith’s shoulders. Keith stays tense for a moment before he lets out a breath and slumps against him, suddenly exhausted. Shiro’s arm tightens and settles a little more securely around him. “You aren’t going anywhere, Keith.”

He says it with a conviction Keith doesn’t understand. He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s up to you to decide,” he says, resigned. He rubs his nose against Shiro’s sweatshirt obnoxiously, because he still has a reputation to uphold. Crumbling walls to build back up.

Shiro makes a disgusted noise and pushes his face away. “I’m serious,” he says with half a laugh, then sobers up. “Really, I am. They aren’t… look, hold on a minute, I’ll prove it.” Shiro squeezes him one last time before scrambling up and jogging back to the old Jeep he’d inherited from his dad. He comes back a moment later carrying a big box covered in wrapping paper with comets and stupid little cartoon spaceships all over it. He plops down in front of Keith, taking a moment to fold his stork legs before handing over the box. Keith stares at it blankly. “It’s your present. Please don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

He’s teasing, but Keith had. Halloween and his birthday had melded into one thing in his memories with his dad and it’s not the other families and homes had bothered with celebrations. Shiro’s smirk slides back into that sad look. “Stop looking at me like a sad puppy,” Keith grumbles, picking at a loose flap of wrapping paper. He wants to carefully pull it apart, fold it up and hide it away somewhere safe. He makes himself rip into it instead, but can't stop himself from surreptitiously pocketing a shred. His eyes widen as he stares at the box numbly. “You. You got me a telescope?”

Shiro grins wide and proud. “Yeah. Well, mostly. The Smiths covered some of it too in exchange for helping them out with. Uh.” He looks a little shifty. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything but I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point. They wanted to throw you a surprise party. Mrs. Smith was going to take you to a movie and shopping while Mr. Smith and I decorated the house.” He smiles tentatively. “Jii-chan made you a cake. It’s really good. Chocolate and raspberry.”

For what feels like the thousandth time today, tears spring to his eyes. Shiro looks devastated when they spill over. “Oh no, please don’t cry. This is a good thing, isn’t it?”

The box tumbles to the side as Keith launches himself at Shiro, who grunts in surprise on impact. His hands come around and rub soothing circles over his back. Keith hides in his shoulder while he struggles to put himself back together. He finally pulls back, belatedly checking the telescope box for damage. “Maybe we could come out here sometime soon and try it out?” Shiro offers.

Keith hugs the box to his chest and nods. “Can we go home?” The word is awkward on his tongue, but it feel right.

Shiro stands and offers a hand to help him up. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

 

***

 

Keith braces himself to be yelled at when Shiro brings him back to the Smiths’ house. _Home,_ he corrects himself. It’s going to take a while to get used to. He hunches in on himself when the Smiths jump up from the couch. Shiro had called them from the Jeep earlier to let them know that Keith was safe and they were on their way back. 

Keith almost backpedals right into Shiro when Mrs. Smith rushes forward and drops to her knees in front of him, but numbly allows her to draw him into a fierce hug. “You are so grounded, kid,” she says but her tone doesn’t match her words. She pulls back so she can look at him, hands still firm but gentle on his shoulders. “Please don’t ever do that again. If something’s wrong, _talk_ to us. Don’t just...disappear.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice and damn it, he’s going to cry again. At least he won't be alone. Mrs. Smith’s lips twist and she pulls him in for another hug. Slowly, Keith returns it. He looks over her head at Mr. Smith, who is watching them with an inscrutable expression. Anxiety makes a swift comeback. Mr. Smith holds his gaze a moment longer, then turns it on Shiro instead.

“Shiro, I know it’s late, but would you like to see if Kikyo and Eijiro would like to come over for that cake?”

Shiro nods enthusiastically. “Sure! I’ll be right back.” He lopes out the door.

Mr. Smith sets a heavy hand on Keith’s head as Mrs. Smith stands again, but he only ruffles his hair and then squeezes his shoulder. “You really gave us a scare, buddy.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, shrinking in on himself. Mr. Smith shakes his head but his mouth has softened out of it’s perpetually stern frown.

“Come on, your presents are in the dining room. Janette?”

“I’ll get the ice cream,” Mrs. Smith says, voice still a little wet. “You boys set the table.”

Keith takes a shaky breath and follows his foster parents into the brightly decorated dining room.

Late that night after everyone has left, Keith carefully puts his presents in their places: the books and model spaceship on the shelf, the posters on the wall, and the telescope at the window. The pack of glow-in-the-dark stars go on his desk next to the new-used mac laptop, ready for when Shiro comes over the next day to help stick them to the ceiling. Then he unpacks the supplies from his backpack to make room for his brand new Astronomy for Beginners textbook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay right here with us,  
> Don't run away to the sand,  
> We have love to give.  
> -[@circuscrovv](https://twitter.com/circuscrovv)
> 
> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
> Tumblr: [Votrashed](https://voltrashed.tumblr.com) (mostly inactive)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm disappointed in everyone. None of you called me out on the fact that Keith's birthday is not actually on Halloween! I'm kidding, but seriously, I may or may not have mixed up Keith's birth date with Otabek Altin's from Yuri on Ice. I'm not going to change it though, because I don't know about you guys but I need dorky Dracula Shiro more than I need complete accuracy.
> 
> Lola, this one's for you (^.~)☆

Keith’s avoidance skills have soared to new heights.

“More like, have fallen to new lows, my dude.”

Keith pulls his phone away to glare at the grinning picture of Hunk mocking him from the screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be my supportive friend?” he asks when he brings it back up to his ear. He can practically hear Hunk’s lackadaisical shrug.

“I _am_ your supportive friend. That’s why I’m meeting you in the business and finance building instead of the library like normal people. I still don’t get why you’re avoiding this guy in the first place.” Keith bites his lip to hold back a sigh and hunches his shoulders as he looks around, as if just talking about Shiro might make him suddenly appear like Beetlejuice or Voldemort. Shiro has become Keith’s personal He Who Must Not Be Named.

He’s still alone, aside from a few business majors hanging out in the small study area where he’s loitering. “You know why,” Keith hisses. One of the students looks up and glares. He turns his back on her and her annoyed huff.

“Yes. Yes I do,” Hunk says flatly. “You have _got_ to stop telling Lance everything. I love you, buddy, but there are things I don’t need to here and you know he has no concept of privacy.”

Keith is well aware of Lance’s town crier status. It’s extremely useful for times like this, when he doesn’t want to repeatedly explain that he’s hiding from his crush due to masturbation induced guilt.

He doesn’t get the chance to reply, because when he glances through the floor to ceiling windows that look out towards the main campus, he sees a very familiar silver floof. “Shit.”

“Seriously?” the business major who’d glared at him bitches. Keith ignores her along with Hunk’s concerned voice. There’s no way Shiro’s coming in here. There’s no _reason_ for him to be coming in here. That’s why Keith chose it for his hidey-hole in the first place. And yet, Shiro is heading straight for the front doors, several textbooks under his arm and a vaguely annoyed look on his face.

“ _Shit,”_ he repeats with feeling. “Hunk, he’s here. Why is he here?”

“Wait, what?” Hunk asks.

“Shiro is _here_. Walking into the building as we speak.” Keith’s panicking. It’s pathetic, but that doesn’t change the fact that his voice has gone up at least two octaves and his pits are breaking out in sweat. “What do I do?”

“You could leave,” the business major snaps. “For fuck’s sake, have your disaster gay meltdown elsewhere!”

Keith flips her off, but Shiro is pushing through the front doors, so he takes her advice and escapes down the first hall he finds leading away from Shiro. The students behind him clap and cheer. He wonders how confused Shiro is to be walking in to a round of applause. Not that he doesn't deserve it; Keith would happily applaud him too if he weren't, you know, running away like a complete coward.

“Keith, buddy, talk to me. What’s happening?” Keith awkwardly tries to pull the hood of his sweatshirt up while fumbling his phone and backpack. He glances behind him and _shit fucking shitty fuck_ , Shiro is following him. Had he seen him? “Keith!”

“I gotta go.” He hangs up on Hunk’s exclamations as he spies a door that is partly open. He darts through it, practically slamming it behind him. He shuts his eyes and slumps against it with a sigh.

“Can I help you?” Keith starts, eyes flying open. This is not a closet or classroom like he'd expected. A man big enough to put Shiro to shame stares at him from behind a desk. Sprawled across it like a spoiled cat is another man with long silvery hair and a sleepy, disgruntled look. Keith gapes, wondering if he’s finally gone round the bend and is hallucinating or something. “Hello?" he big man repeats, brow lowering into an intimidating frown. "What are you doing in my office? You’re not a business student.”

Keith stutters, completely flustered. “It’s. I...uh.” The silver-haired man presses up onto one elbow and tilts his head. Keith feels vaguely like a pinned bug under his gaze. The laptop that had been perched on his stomach slides precariously. The mountain behind him saves it with a long suffering sigh. Keith is definitely hallucinating. Or possibly in an alternate universe where people use other people as desks like it's no big deal. He wouldn't rule out anything at this point.

Someone knocks on the door. Keith dodges to the side as it opens and, because the only luck Keith has ever had is bad luck, Shiro pokes his head in. Keith edges further back behind the door and prays not to be seen. “Sendak, good, you _are_ here. The astronomy department’s copier is broken again and yours is acting up. You got a moment to work your magic?” He sees the moment Shiro clocks the man on the desk as well because his face takes on the expression of a confused puppy. “Uh? Or I can come back?” He gawks at the man, who is unfortunately staring directly at Keith with a small, mischievous smile that sends his stomach lurching. He cuts a frantic hand across his throat, then quickly changes the motion to pushing a lock of hair behind his ear as Shiro follows the man’s gaze. Shiro’s confused frown deepens. “Keith? What are you doing here?”

Desk Guy sits up fully, crossing his legs and dropping his chin into his hands. “Yes, Keith. What _are_ you doing here?” Keith glares at him. Way to throw a stranger under the bus, asshole.

“I, uh, had a question,” he says, which comes out more like a question in and of itself. “But I can come back later. Yeah. I’ll come back later.” He’s nodding for no apparent reason. Why can’t he stop nodding? This is a disaster. He needs to get out now, before he does something even more embarrassing, like blurt out his dirty little secret in front of Shiro and two strangers.

Desk Guy looks like the cat who got the cream. He opens his mouth but blessedly, The Mountain, whose name is apparently Sendak, pokes him hard in the side. Desk Guy yelps and bats at him crossly. “My office hours start at two. You can come back then,” Sendak says in a gruff voice. Keith could kiss him, if he weren’t pretty sure the silver haired demon on his desk would take offense.

“Great. I’ll just...do that, then.” He tries to edge around Shiro, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Hold on, Keith, I’ve been wanting to talk to you anyway. You mind waiting a moment?”

Damn it. He can’t say no when Shiro looks at him with that hopeful gaze. “Yeah, sure,” he mutters. Shiro beams, sunshine personified. Keith is helplessly caught, unable to look away.

“Ducky, make Ken Doll and He-Man go away,” Desk Guy pouts, clearly bored of the spectacle. “They’re interrupting my beauty sleep.”

Shiro chokes. “Ducky?”

Sendak heaves a resigned sigh even as he flushes and scowls. “Shut up, Lo.”

Desk guy blows a raspberry and hops off the desk. “Whatever. I'm going to go let Allura slap me around for a while. See you later, _Ducky_.” He twiddles his fingers in a flippant little wave and waltzes past Keith and Shiro in a cloud of majestic silver hair, disappearing down the hall. Shiro stares after him, body language screaming one giant _what the hell?_

Sendak mutters something under his breath, as he scrapes one hand over his head, mussing his knock off Wolverine haircut. “Just kick it, Shirogane.”

“Huh?”

Sendak waves his hand irritably. “The copier. There’s no magic. Just kick the side where the scuff mark is, right after you hit the start button.” He sets his laptop back on the desk and goes back to whatever he was doing. The dismissal couldn’t be clearer.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Sendak grunts. Keith edges out the door and Shiro shuffles after him, closing the door behind him. He mouths the word ‘ducky’ to himself, shaking his head. He glances at Keith, bewildered. “You saw that too, right? I’m not crazy?”

Keith can’t help it; he snorts loudly. “We are not the crazy ones here,” he tells him firmly. His eyes catch on a sign posted next to the office door, right above the masking tape label identifying Sendak as the TA for Professor Sanda, whoever that is. The sign has a picture of Desk Guy looking smug, with the hand scrawled words _If You See This Cat, Do Not Interact Or He Will Never Leave_ under it. Keith points it out. “Guess we ignored the warning.”

Shiro giggles. Full on giggles. It’s adorable. He claps a hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle it. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just. Sendak’s the most straight-laced, intimidating person I’ve ever met, but that. That was...something.”

Keith grins, guilty conscience momentarily forgotten. “That’s one word for it.”

Quiet falls and the awkwardness reasserts itself swiftly and viciously. Shiro clears his throat and gestures down the hall. “You want to come with? This shouldn’t take long.”

Keith wants to say no. He wants to run away. Instead he shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. He follows Shiro to a small supply room with an ancient looking copier against one wall. “Wow,” he says, eying it dubiously.

Shiro sighs and levels a grimace at the thing. “The astronomy department’s copier makes this one seem cutting edge.” He fixes Keith with an wry smile. “Welcome to your future.”

Keith winces. “Can’t wait.” He fidgets as he watches Shiro flip through one of the textbooks before setting it on the scanner. His eyes fall unerringly to his pert ass and thick thighs when Shiro leans over to check the paper level. Then his brain helpfully superimposes the memory of trying to scrub come stains off a faded, peeling NASA symbol without damaging it further and his stomach drops. He quickly fixes his gaze on the wall over Shiro’s shoulder. He’s always been super interested in learning how to conserve paper and ink. Really.

Shiro curses when he kicks the side of the copier but nothing happens. He does it again, to no avail. “Oh come on. I really don’t want to go back to Sendak,” he whines. Keith rolls his eyes and gently nudges Shiro out of the way. He hits the start button and gives the machine a hard kick with the side of his boot. The copier lights up and whirs to life. The look Shiro gives him is one of pure gratitude. Keith smirks.

“You don’t get scuff marks like that with those little love taps you were giving it.”

Shiro hip bumps him fondly. “My hero.” He stays close, shoulder brushing warm against Keith’s. Keith tries to edge away as casually as possible. He’s not successful, if Shiro’s tiny frown is anything to go by. He shakes it off quickly though, flipping the book to another page and gesturing for Keith to kick again. He leans against the machine and crosses his arms as the copier starts back up, regarding Keith with a fond, easy expression. “So I saw that you switched over to Matt’s section.”

Keith looks down at the copier chugging happily along. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I figured that was probably better?” Definitely better for him. It was hard enough to keep his attention on Dr. Slav in class yesterday when Shiro and Matt were in one corner grading homework. Shiro would glance up every few minutes to give Keith a soft, devastating smile until Matt inevitably elbowed him to get him back on task.

Shiro nods agreeably. “Yeah, definitely. I was going to suggest it but then I saw you’d already switched.”

“Yeah,” Keith rasps. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“So. We still on for Friday?” Shiro’s cheerful confidence is turning tentative as Keith’s awkward, standoffish behavior continues to grow worse. Keith doesn’t want to be so remote, so cold. He doesn’t even know why this is affecting him so much; it’s not like he’s ever been shy or reserved when it comes to sex. And yet here he is, hardly able to look Shiro in the eye. “Or, we could do a different time if that works better for you,” Shiro tries. He sets a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith flinches. Shiro jerks back as if burnt. He drops his arm, face falling into that horrible neutral expression. Keith has always been able to read him like a book though and time hasn’t changed that. It’s not hard to decipher frustration in the slight purse of his lips or the hurt hiding in the tightness around his eyes. “Or not,” he says tonelessly.

Shit. He needs to fix this, now, before he loses Shiro again. “I’m sorry, I just.” He’s hit with sudden inspiration. “I’m not feeling great. I think I’m getting sick.” He slumps and tries to look as pathetic as possible. He coughs to emphasize.

Shiro’s expression morphs into one of understanding and concern. “Oh, yeah. You do look a bit under the weather.” He steps closer and sets the back of his hand against Keith’s forehead. He frowns. “You’re awfully warm too.”

Of course he is. Shiro is standing less than a foot away and is cupping his cheek tenderly, soft gray eyes wide and and worried. Anyone would burn up under that kind of attention. Keith puts a safe distance between them. “I don’t want to get you sick,” he says quickly. “Maybe we can rain check to next Friday?” He’ll be over this by then. He has to be, right? He can’t go on feeling guilty forever.

Shiro nods. “Of course, no problem. You should focus on getting better. Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm? Or maybe the health center would be better.”

Keith shakes his head firmly. A trip to the nurse isn’t going to fix what ails him. “I’ll be fine, Shiro. I just need some rest.”

“You want me to make you some of that weird chili pepper chicken noodle soup you like?”

Keith bites back a frustrated noise. Shiro is too damn caring and understanding; it’s just giving Keith another reason to feel guilty. “My friend Hunk’s already making me some,” he lies, because why not add another one to the pile he’s amassing. “Actually, I should go. I was supposed to meet him in the study area.”

“I thought you were here to ask Sendak a question?”

Keith is in danger of getting caught in his own tangled webs. “Uh, yeah, that too. See you later, Shiro.” He books it out of there as quickly as his ‘sick’ self can manage. When he gets outside, he’s surprised to see that Hunk actually _is_ waiting for him. He jumps up from the concrete wall he'd been sitting on and hurries over to Keith.

“There you are! I was going to try and find you but I got kicked out by an angry mob of business majors when I tried to ask if they’d seen you. What did you _do?_ ”

“Channeled my inner dumpster fire,” Keith says miserably.

“Awww.” Hunk pats him on the head instead of hugging him like he probably wants, respectful of Keith's leeriness of embraces he doesn't initiate. Keith reciprocates by butting his head into his palm like a cat; it never fails in getting Hunk to make his _it's so fluffy!_ face. Predictably, Hunk takes the bait and digs his fingers into the muscles at the base of his skull. Keith might or might not let out an actual purr. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been. Hunk chuckles, squeezing a few more times before letting go. “Hey. You wanna come back to my place and help me figure out some new scone combinations?”

“God yes, please.” Burying himself in baked goods sounds divine right now. And just to make good on at least one lie, he adds, “You think you could make some chili chicken noodle too?”

Hunk pats him again. “Anything you want, buddy. Anything you want.”

 

***

 

Keith gets two months to experience what it's like to be a normal kid. Two months, which is more than he’s had since he was ten and opening the door to the solemn faces of his dad’s fireman comrades.

In those two months, several things happen. Keith starts talking to his classmates, more than the usual grunts and monosyllabic answers. They aren’t friends like Shiro, but they are...friendly. He starts actually paying attention to his classes, and not just the math and science ones. He spends time with the Smiths. It’s not comfortable. It’s not easy. He snaps and flinches and shuts down and shuts the door, but when he opens it again, they are still there.

He spends a lot of time with Shiro.

The most surprising thing to him is that the science fair project he’d done on paper airplanes as a joke and had somehow managed to win at the local and regional levels, also comes in third at the state level too. He wins an iPod. He wins _money._ He gets his name and picture in the newspaper and on TV. It’s exciting and overwhelming and ultimately, the thing that changes everything.

 

***

 

“Why are you _knocking,_ numb nuts?” Keith swings the front door open eagerly, backpack and sleeping bag in hand. "You know you can just walk _—_ " He stops short at the sight of two large and intimidating men in suits on their doorstep. Keith backs up, instinctively closing the door partway. “You aren’t Shiro,” he says blankly, then narrows his eyes suspiciously as the bigger of the two blinks back at him, nonplussed. “Who are you?”

A strange expression crosses the bigger man’s face, there and gone before Keith can read it. “I am Kolivan,” he says, stiffly, formal and fishy as hell. He gestures to the other man. “This is my partner, Thace.”

Keith closes the door a little more until he’s peeking out of a crack barely half his own body width. “Okay,” he drawls out long and slow. “What d’you want?”

“Keith, you’re being rude.” Janette’s hand comes down on his shoulder and guides him back from the door. He scowls, but lets her replace him at the threshold. “I’m sorry about him,” she tells them with a small smile. “We aren’t interested in whatever you’re selling, though, so…” She closes the door and Keith bites back a vicious grin. And she says that _he's_ rude. She catches it anyway and just shrugs with a small smile of her own. “Shush, I’m doing them a favor by saving them time.”

There’s another knock on the door. Keith and Janette share a surprised look. Janette’s quickly morphs into annoyance. She rolls her eyes and turns back to the door. “Look, I’m sorry but _—_ ”

“Are you Janette Smith?” the man identified as Thace interrupts quickly. 

Janette straightens. “That’s me. Can I help you?” she asks warily.

Thace smiles warmly. It’s disconcerting because the expression looks both foreign and completely at home on his face. “I’m Thace, this is Kolivan. We spoke on the phone earlier. I apologize, I realize we are earlier than anticipated.”

Janette’s face shuts down. “Yes, you are,” she says, voice tight with some emotion Keith can’t parse but still sinks his stomach into his boots. “My husband will be home soon, if you’d like to come in and wait.”

“Janette?” He sounds small. Scared. He hates it. _You’re overreacting,_ he tells himself, _just like you did last time._ The reminder does little to thaw the block of ice his insides have become.

Janette turns to him and sets a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Keith. Why don’t you head over to Shiro’s now? See what has him running behind.”

Keith shakes his head and crosses his arms. “No. I’m not leaving.” He’s sure as hell not going on their camping trip now, that’s for sure.

Janette takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. “Keith, everything is going to be okay.” The look she sends Thace and Kolivan seems to say _it damn better be._ She squeezes his shoulder again. “We’ll see you Sunday.” When Keith still hesitates, she huffs and gives him a little push towards the door. “Go. Have fun, kiddo. No excuses.”

Keith gives in, but he purposely drops his backpack and sleeping bag next to the door rather than take them with him. He’s not going camping. Shiro will understand. He edges past the two men, who stand aside to let him pass. Kolivan watches him with an intense, inscrutable look, just like he has this entire time. It sends a shiver through him. He leaps the steps of the front porch and books it to Shiro’s house.

 

***

 

Shiro startles when he hears footsteps pounding up the stairs and Keith’s frantic, “ _Shiro!”_ He glances over at his clock and bites back a curse.

“Look, Corey, I gotta go.” He hangs up on his boyfriend’s annoyed voice just as Keith comes crashing into his room, nearly faceplanting when he trips over a discarded shoe. “Whoa, you okay?” Keith growls and kicks the offending shoe towards the wall. It hits with a thump and leaves a small mark. Shiro purses his lips. “Keith,” he warns.

“No, I’m not okay,” Keith snaps. The frantic tone of his voice catches Shiro’s attention and he promptly forgets the damage to his wall. Keith is pacing and biting his nails, both signs of anxiety he's usually so careful to hide. There's no way this is about him being a few minutes late.

Shiro stands, but doesn't approach. “What’s wrong?” 

Keith shakes his head and runs his hands through his overgrown hair before cupping them around his neck and exhaling harshly. “I’m probably blowing things out of proportion.” His voice wavers. “I always blow things out of proportion.” He sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than Shiro.

Shiro sits on his bed and pats the bedspread next to him. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”

“Who were you talking to?” Keith asks abruptly, attempting to change the subject.

“It was just Corey. Keith…”

Keith makes an over exaggerated look of disgust. “Ew, gross. Were you two having phone sex? Never mind, I don’t want to know. But were you? Is he bad at it? I’ll bet he’s bad at it.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and pokes him sharply in the stomach. “We weren’t having phone sex, brat.” More like arguing with Corey about the fact that he’s not ready for sex of any kind yet, but whatever. He’s not going to do something he doesn’t want just because Corey wants to get some before leaving for college and 'the big leagues’. Shiro refocuses. “Keith, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to, but we both know you’re just going to end up twisting yourself into knots if you don’t.”

Keith slumps down on the bed next to him, rubbing harshly at his forehead. “Two guys came to the door and wanted to talk to Janette and Tom. They were...weird. And then Janette got all weird and made me come over here.”

Okay, that _is_ a little odd. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he offers, but he's not even convincing himself. He tries again. “I mean, I’m sure it’s something, but probably not something to worry about.”

Keith nods slowly, but he’s still biting his thumbnail, flinching when he tears at a hangnail. “The one guy wouldn’t stop looking at me,” he says quietly. Shiro goes cold.

“What do you mean?” he says slowly.

Keith shrugs uneasily. “He kept looking at me, like he couldn’t stop. And…” he fidgets for a moment, then shakes his head, hard. “He looked familiar. Like. I dunno. Like I’d seen him before somewhere?” He turns to look at Shiro, eyes wide and earnest. “Shiro, something’s going on. I need to know what’s going on.”

Shiro bites his lip. No matter which way you look at it, some oddly familiar guy staring at Keith doesn’t bode well. They both startle at the sound of a car door slamming. Keith bolts off the bed and cranes his head to try and look out the window towards the driveway. “That’s Tom.”

Shiro makes a decision. Probably a stupid one, but he can’t always be the responsible one. “Come on.” Keith spins around. Shiro gestures for him to follow, then leads him downstairs and out the back door. There’s a small fence separating their yard from the Smiths' but it’s easy enough to hop, even for Keith’s smaller than average stature. He walks the perimeter of the house, testing windows until he finds one that’s not locked. Keith watches him with a look dangerously close to hero worship.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, looking around like anyone is actually going to see them.

Shiro dares to throw him what he hopes is a devil-may-care grin. “What, you’ve never snuck in or out of a house before? I’m disappointed, Keith. You’re not living up to your rep.” Keith smacks him on the arm and then stifles a shout when his knuckles hit metal instead of flesh. Shiro snickers mercilessly, but sobers quickly. “You wanted to know what’s going on, so we’re going to find out.”

For a second, Keith’s expression is startlingly vulnerable, then he sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. When he drops his arm, he's smiling. “Dork’s got a rebel streak in him,” he teases. Shiro ignores him in favor of sliding the window the rest of the way open and hefting himself up and through it. He lands on his feet as quietly as possible in the Smiths’ laundry room, only stumbling a little over his feet. Keith slithers in silently behind him, landing in a graceful crouch. He grins up at Shiro, wild and excited. Shiro smiles helplessly back, heart speeding up with the excitement of doing something against the rules. Keith slips past him to ease the door open and creep down the hallway towards the living room where they can hear voices.

They don’t need to go far. Mr. Smith’s voice is raised, tense. “ _—_ understand and feel for your situation, but you can’t just tear him away from his entire life like this! He’s finally doing better. He has friends, _family_ here.”

“ _We_ are his family,” interrupts a deep, rumbling voice. “I’m not going to just let him go, now that we’ve found him again.”

Shiro watches in real time as Keith’s world crumbles. He doesn’t have time to even think about stopping him, can only follow helplessly as Keith bolts down the hallway and skids into the living room. He gets there in time to see all four adults lurch to their feet in shock.

“What’re you talking about?” Keith snarls, fists balled. “My family is _dead._ _They’re_ my family now.” He points a shaking finger at the Smiths, who gather around him, a perfect little triangle of solidarity. The two men stand opposite, their own little island in the midst of tension thick as concrete.

“Keith, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Smith asks, turning Keith to look at her. “You were supposed to be next door.” Shiro shrinks back and attempts to become one with the wallpaper, to no avail. Mrs. Smith's lips purse, displeased as he waves weakly. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t exactly how we wanted you to find out, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”

“What?” Keith wheezes like he’d been punched.

“Keith, why don’t you sit down so we can talk,” she says gently. “Shiro, you should go home.” Her voice is anything but gentle when addressing him. Shiro wilts.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers. He half expects Keith to argue, but he looks too shell shocked to do much of anything but collapse on the couch and stare at the two strangers. Shiro hesitates, but he doesn’t know what to say to make any of this better. He practically runs out of the house with his tail between his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re happily home,  
> Let’s go camping in the woods,  
> Until they take you.  
> -[@circuscrovv](https://twitter.com/circuscrovv)
> 
> For those who are curious, in this AU Sendak and Lotor are cousins. Lotor calls Sendak Ducky because when they were little, Sendak used to follow Lotor around like a little duckling.
> 
> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
> Tumblr: [Votrashed](https://voltrashed.tumblr.com) (mostly inactive)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited! The amazing and talented [Circuscrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuscrow/pseuds/circuscrow) wrote some wonderful haikus for my stories and I wanted to share. You can read them all [right here](https://twitter.com/Kenda1l1/status/1132722124349693954). Personally, this one is my favorite:
> 
> Feral desert boy,  
> Run and escape to the sand,  
> Bang your beefy nerd.

Keith sprawls across the couch, pants unbuttoned, in a scone induced haze while Hunk waxes poetic about some girl he’d met at the cafe.

“She’s just so cool, you know? She’s still in high school, but her computer skills are crazy. If she told me she hacked the Pentagon and got away with it, I’d believe her.”

Keith lolls his head to one side so he can look at Hunk, who is sitting on the floor between the couch and cheap coffee table. “What’d you say her name was?”

“Her name’s Katie, but she goes by Pidge.” Hunk picks up another scone, regards it for a moment, then delicately sets it back on the plate. “She’s going to be applying to our college too, and there’s no way she won’t get in so we might even be in classes together. I hope so.”

Keith smirks. “Does Hunky-Hunk have a crush?”

Hunk goes red and turns to whap Keith on the stomach. “No, shut up!” Keith grunts; he is way too full. Another hit like that and he’s going to throw up on Hunk. He won’t even feel sorry about it. As it is, he flicks Hunk’s ear in retaliation. “Ouch! Jerk.”Hunk engages him in a brief but ferocious slap fight which Hunk unfortunately wins. “I don’t have a crush, she just seems cool, okay?” he says once they’ve settled again. He tilts his head to one side, contemplative. “Besides, I don’t think she’s interested in that. Any of that.”

Keith hums and lays back on the couch, tapping his fingers on his chest while he stares at the ceiling. “Well, that’s good then. I wouldn’t want my friend getting caught with jailbait.” He grins as Hunk squawks indignantly. “What? You can’t tell me you’d do well in prison.”

“Oof, yeah.” Keith sits up when the door slams behind Lance as he comes in. Lance makes a face as he drops his bag next to the door and kicks off his shoes. “Sorry, Hunkster. You may look like a Daddy but you really, really aren’t.”

Hunk sniffs, nose in the air snootily. “Please, I’d do awesome in prison. I’d get myself put on kitchen duty and bring peace and harmony between the gangs with my delicious lavender peach scones.”

Lance’s face lights up. He vaults himself over the back of the couch. “Ooh, those sound awesome,” he says as he reaches for one of the remaining pastries. Keith never wanted to know what his orgasm face looks like, but he gets a pretty good idea when Lance takes a bite. He grimaces and looks pointedly up at the ceiling. The ceiling is his friend. It won’t haunt him every time he thinks about sex.

On the other hand, maybe that’s a good thing. Anything is better than Shiro and The Sweatshirt Incident.

“I still vote for the bacon, pepper and jalapeno ones,” he says, trying to derail his train of thoughts.

Lance rolls his eyes as he crams the rest of the scone in his mouth and picks up another one. “‘Course you do, Tex,” he mumbles through crumbs and mushy pastry. Heathen. “Gotta prove you’re cowboy enough.”

Keith jams a foot into his ribs and ignores his grunt. “M’not a cowboy,” he grumbles. He sticks his tongue out. “I’m a rancher.” There’s a difference, damn it.

Lance drops the argument in favor of groaning appreciatively. “Oh my God, I’ve seen heaven and it’s made of bacon and jalapenos.”

Hunk slumps, pouting. “Is that a vote for the cowboy ones then?” He’d argued passionately that the sweet scones were the best while Keith maintained that lavender is for bouquets, not food.

Lance deliberates for a moment as he chews. “Both,” he decides. “Both is good.” He piles the rest of the scones onto one plate and settles it on his slouched stomach to more easily shovel them into his mouth. “So, why is Hunk going to jail?”

Keith grins and opens his mouth but Hunk beats him to it. “Hey Lance, guess who had the ultimate disaster gay moment today?” Keith glares at him. He is hurt. He is betrayed. He may never recover.

Lance, on the other hand, looks like it’s his birthday and Hunk has just given him the greatest gift of all. “Ooh, spill, spill!”

Keith buries his head under a couch pillow as Hunk regales Lance with Keith’s adventures in the Business and Finance department. When he’s finished and they’re done laughing at Keith’s misfortune, Lance pats Keith’s ankle in sympathy. “Oh man, Mullet, that sucks.”

Understatement of the century. Keith whines when Hunk pulls the pillow away from him. “I was using that.” He tries to get it back but Hunk tosses it across the room.

“Sorry, man. I can’t have you smothering yourself on a Friday night. We haven’t even made plans yet.”

Keith brightens up a little. “It’s my turn to choose, right?”

Lance groans and flicks a bit of scone at Keith. “We’re going to be Netflix and chilling again tonight, huh?”

Keith gives him a strange look. “Wait, what exactly do you think that means?” he asks slowly.

Lance cocks his head. He looks like a confused puppy. “It means chilling out and watching Netflix like losers,” he says, as if Keith were the ignorant one. Hunk snorts.

“Oh buddy, no.”

Lance sits up with a frown. “Wait, what does it mean, then?”

Keith ignores him. “Actually, I was thinking that a bar sounds amazing. Maybe a club. Scratch that, definitely a club.”

Hunk claps his hands excitedly. “I like the sound of that. What club?”

“All of them,” Keith says flatly. Intoxicated dancing sounds like the perfect cure for his woes. Maybe if he drinks enough, he’ll forget the event that started all of this in the first place.

Hunk nods wisely. “Ah, yes. Burying your troubles under copious amounts of booze. A very mature and reasonable solution.” Keith flips him off and hops off the couch to get ready. “You should wear those hot pants Lance bought you,” Hunk calls after him.

Keith is not that shameless. The pants that cling like leggings and make his ass look amazing will be more than enough.

“Wait, will _someone_ please tell me what Netflix and chill means?”

 

***

 

Matt storms into his and Shiro’s shared apartment and dumps a stack of papers on the kitchen bar counter. He drops his head down next to it and wonders where his life went wrong. Shiro, sitting on the stool next to him, pokes him in the ear. Matt slaps him away and glares but Shiro just smiles back around his cereal spoon. He pops it out to say, “Bad day, Matty-boy?”

Matt snatches the spoon from him and digs into the bowl of knock off Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Sugar makes everything better, right? That and bitching to someone who knows exactly what he's going through. “Ninety percent of the students in my discussion group wouldn’t know a quasar from a pulsar and I honestly don’t know how they made it this far in life.”

Shiro snorts and pushes the rest of his bowl over to Matt. He’s a good friend, even if Matt’s pretty sure he divided up the class to purposefully saddle him with the idiots and slackers. This is what he gets for skipping out on the first class. He chomps dejectedly on some more sugary goodness as Shiro pats him sympathetically on the back. Once he finishes gobbling down the cereal, he sighs and plants himself on the other barstool. He pushes the stack of papers over.

“Look at these worksheets! This is all basic information and yet somehow only three of them managed to get higher than a seventy. How did they even _pass_ their last classes?” Was he this dumb as an undergrad? He couldn’t possibly have been.

Shiro perks up and pulls the papers over to him so he can shuffle through. “How’d Keith do?” He pulls out one of the sheets and makes a happy sound when he sees the 98% written at the top.

Matt narrows his eyes, gossip radar pinging. “Keith?” he enquires sweetly. Shiro freezes. He carefully sets the paper back down and clears his throat. 

“Yeah,” he says in the bullshit disinterested voice he uses when he knows he’s revealed too much.  “I was just curious. He seemed like he had a lot of promise. He was in my section before he transferred into yours, you know.”

Of course he knows that. They’re Dr. Slav’s only TAs; it’s not like Keith could have transferred from anyone else’s section. Matt had assumed it was just due to scheduling, but now he’s thinking there’s more to it. “Yeah, and why was that again?” Shiro shrugs evasively, avoiding eye contact. Matt grins, hypothesis forming. Time to test it. “Something tells me it’s not because he couldn’t make it to yours.”

Shiro blushes all the way down to the vee of his ridiculously tight undershirt. He shuffles through the papers again. He points at one of the questions. “You know, a lot of my students got this one wrong too. We should concentrate on that for the next group session.”

Test concluded, all data supports hypothesis. Time to present results. He leans on his elbows into Shiro’s space. “Oh my God, Keith is your long lost buddy!”

Shiro sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Yes,” he finally relents with a long suffering look.

“Ha!” Matt crows triumphantly. He points a finger at him. “Busted.” It's been eating at him all week and Shiro had refused to give him any identifying clues until now. He frowns as something occurs to him. “Wait, why did he have to transfer?”

Shiro shrugs, setting his elbow on the countertop and dropping his head into his hand. “It seemed like a conflict of interest to have him in mine.” Matt widens his eyes but Shiro cuts him off at the pass. “Not because of anything you’re thinking, perv. We’re just friends. I just don’t want anyone thinking I was favoring him if we hung out.”

Matt hums thoughtfully. Shiro is such a bad liar, especially when he’s lying to himself. “He’s pretty cute,” Matt says idly. “Smart too. A little smaller than your usual type.”

“Matt,” Shiro warns firmly. Matt raises his hands and relents. They’ve been friends and roommates long enough that he knows precisely how far he can push before Shiro turns into a stubborn mule.

“So you guys are going to keep hanging out then?”

Shiro’s expression turns morose. That’s not a good sign. He fiddles with the papers. “I don’t know.” Matt waits for him to continue. Sometimes the best way to get him to talk is to shut up and let him. He sighs again and turns to face him. “I’ve barely seen him all week outside of class. And we were supposed to go for coffee again tonight but he cancelled. He said he was sick, but…”

“He did seem a little under the weather,” Matt offers sympathetically. More like sleep deprived, but who’s splitting hairs?

“I guess,” Shiro says dubiously. He picks up the spoon and stirs the leftover milk in the cereal bowl. “That’s what I thought at first too. It’s just... I don’t know. I mean, he had the flu once as a kid and his foster parents practically had to lock him in his room to keep him from sneaking out to school. And now he’s cancelling over the sniffles?”

Yeah, that’s a little suspect. Still, it’s Matt’s job as best friend to remain positive. “Maybe he’s matured and knows better now?” That sounds weak, even to him. He tries again. “Have you tried rescheduling?”

“He said we could try again next Friday,” Shiro admits.

“Well there you go!” Matt claps him on the shoulder. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound very convinced; he drops the spoon to pick at a spot of unidentifiable crustiness on the counter, refusing to look up. Looks like it’s time for Operation: Cheer Up.

Matt sets his hand on Shiro’s other shoulder and shakes him firmly. “Alright, what you need is a nice, anonymous screw. We’re going clubbing tonight. No excuses.” Shiro clamps his mouth shut.

“I need a shower,” he says instead of arguing, which means he really must be pent up. It’s not  exactly surprising, seeing as he can count on one hand the times Shiro has gone home with someone since he’d broken up with his asshole boyfriend almost a year ago.

Matt grins and just barely manages to stop himself from pumping his fist in the air or patting himself on the back for a job well done. “Yeah, you do,” he teases instead, wrinkling his nose at Shiro’s less than pleasant post-workout stank. “Go make yourself pretty, big guy. We’re leaving in an hour.”

 

***

 

Shiro practically bolts out of bed when Keith wanders into his room at 10:30pm, all red rimmed eyes, blotchy skin, and shocky, empty expression. Shiro stops short in front of him, twitching with the urge to pull him in and hold him tight. Every part of Keith screams _Do Not Touch_ though, so he keeps his hands to himself _._ “Keith?”

“I need to sit down,” he says, then proceeds to fold to the floor. Shiro follows suit. He stays quiet even though questions are crowding against his lips, eager to spill into the silence. Finally, Keith opens his mouth to speak. What comes out is more of a croak. He coughs wetly and tries again.

“I have an uncle.” Shiro waits. He’s learned by now that Keith’s words will come in their own time if you have the patience to wait for them. Keith looks up but his eyes aren’t tracking and his expression is still disturbingly hollow. “On my mom’s side.”

Keith doesn’t talk about his mom. Ever. Shiro is staring down a field full of landmines with no map to guide him. “Did you know?” he asks hesitantly. A line appears between Keith’s brows.

“I. Yes?” He shakes his head and holds out a photo Shiro hadn’t noticed him holding. He takes it gingerly; the picture shows the two men from earlier standing in front of a fence, horses and a barn in the background. The bigger one is holding a toddler who must be Keith on one hip. A third man stands with them, a little apart from the rest of the group. He looks wan and exhausted. Breakable. He has Keith’s eyes. Shiro smiles in spite of himself at the sight of baby Keith sucking his thumb and wearing a bright red cowboy hat and boots. When Shiro hands it back, Keith cradles it gently in his lap like it’s a precious glass bauble. He stares down at it as he says, “They have an entire photo album.” His lips curl in a barely there smile. “I rode a horse.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

Keith sighs and flicks the photo away. He collapses backward with a frustrated gowl, arms flopping wide. “I don’t know what to think,” he groans. “Like, apparently we lived with them for almost a year? After my mom disappeared. And I remember them, I think. Sort of.” He snorts. “Uncle Koko and Uncle Face.”

“Aww, that’s adorable,” Shiro teases, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. Keith flips him off without looking but some of the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Shiro hesitates a moment before asking the question that’s been burning on the tip of his tongue. “So, what happened? Why did they wait so long to come get you?” Keith doesn’t answer for a long time and Shiro fears that he’s blown it.

“They didn’t know where I was. My dad, he.” Keith scrubs his hands over his face. “He used to tell me that my mom was still alive, that they were hiding her from us but he was going to find her. He would never say who ‘they’ were.” He sits up, frowning pensively as he plays with a fold in his jeans. “I guess ‘they’ were Kolivan and Thace. He thought they were going to steal me away too. He moved us away, told them he was taking me on a trip to Austen. By the time they realized he was lying, we were already gone.”

“Wow.” Shiro doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah.” Keith looks at him for the first time since he walked in. He bites his lip, painfully vulnerable. “I always knew he was a little...off, you know? Paranoid. By the end, we were practically living in that shack.” He swallows hard, shoulders hunched and oddly guilty. Like he doesn’t want to admit that his dad wasn’t as perfect as he’d made him out to be in the stories he’d shared with Shiro during late nights on the roof.

Shiro reaches out slowly and sets a hand lightly on Keith’s knee. When he doesn’t flinch away, he gives it a comforting squeeze. “He loved you. Maybe what he did was...unorthodox, but he did it to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, well, _safe_ ended with me in the fucking foster system,” he spits, lip curling into an angry snarl.

“Safe led you here,” Shiro points out. “With the Smiths. And me.”

“Yeah, and now I’m going to be taken away. _Again._ ”

A full body pang of sadness goes through Shiro. There’s so much hurt hiding under the caustic bitterness. “There has to be something we can do,” he tries desperately. “They can’t just take you away, can they? You’re already in a stable home. Why would the state let them mess with that?”

Keith shakes his head. “You have no idea how the foster system works,” he scoffs. “They’re blood relatives. CPS always sides with the relatives. And I wasn’t even supposed to be with the Smiths for this long anyway. They were just supposed to be an emergency placement after what happened at the last place but the system is fucked. They forgot about me and the Smiths just. Never pursued it.”

Shiro wants to scream. This isn’t _fair._ “They’re going to fight it though, right? They aren’t just going to roll over and let them take you.”

Keith just shrugs. That emptiness is finding its way back into his eyes. “I don’t know. I got out of there as soon as Kolivan and Thace left. Told them I was coming over here and then just...walked around for a while.”

Shiro wants to chide him for wandering around alone, but that’s the least important issue right now. He blinks back frustrated tears. “When—” his voice cracks and he has to try again. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. “They said they would be staying for a while. They want us to _get to know each other._ ” He’s trying for sarcastic but lands firmly in defeated.

Shiro squeezes his knee again, at a loss for what to do or say. He eventually settles on a simple, “I’m so sorry, Keith.”

Keith’s lip wobbles and he looks up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling over. “Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers.

Shiro gives in to his urge to hug him. “Of course.”

 

***

 

The worst thing about Kolivan and Thace is that they are so damn _nice._ They move into a short-term apartment and when asked how long they are staying, simply answer with, “However long it takes.” Keith believes them, too. They never push or demand his time or attention. If it weren’t for the hazy memories that keep dive bombing him at random moments, he could have happily ignored them until they hopefully went away. His curiosity eventually gets the best of him though, and the photo album he pages through obsessively isn’t enough to answer the growing pile of questions. So he swallows down his anxiety and digs out the phone number they left.

“Do you have a hippo room?” he asks as soon as one of them picks up. He doesn’t know which; he hadn’t given them time to say anything.

There’s a long pause before one of them, Kolivan, he thinks, finally says, “Yes. Your room had a mural with baby hippos.”

Keith grunts and hangs up. A moment later, the phone rings. He sends it immediately to voicemail. He manages to last until he’s laying in bed that night, sleepless, before he gives in and listens to the message.

 

_Your mother loved hippos. She used to say that they were adorable and fierce, just like she knew you would grow up to be. Thace and your father painted the mural. You used to talk to the hippos like they were friends._

There’s a long pause.

_Call anytime, Keith. Anytime. We will answer._

 

An electronic voice comes on, asking if he wants to save, listen again, or delete. He hangs up without deciding. Then he calls back and listens again. He saves it after the third time and lays on his back, staring at the stars on his ceiling and tapping the phone against his sternum. He looks at his alarm clock. It’s a school night and it’s edging on 2am. _Call anytime,_ he thinks. Sounds like a challenge to him. He dials the number again.

It rings and rings. _See? They’re full of bullshit, just like everyone else,_ part of him crows vindictively. The other part of him struggles under crushing disappointment. He’s just about to hang up when the phone clicks.

“Hello?” Thace, he thinks. The voice is rusty, sleepy, but there. “Keith?”

“I had a stuffed hippo too, right?”

“Yes.” Thace sounds a little more alert now. In the background is the sound of sheets rustling and a questioning grunt. “Hold on a moment, Keith. Let me get Kolivan.”

“No,” Keith barks and hangs up. Just like before, the phone rings a moment later and just like before, he sends it to voicemail. He waits ten full minutes before listening to the message.

 

_It was your mother’s, from when she was a baby. She had to sew the leg back on and make new ears for it, but she couldn’t sew to save her life so it ended up with three legs and crooked ears. It didn’t matter though, because you and Po-po were inseparable until…_

_We still have it. I should have brought it, but I didn’t think — I can have one of the ranch hands send it, if you’d like._

_Call anytime, Keith. I meant it._

 

He goes to school the next day with dark circles under his eyes. His phone gets taken away for using it in the bathroom when he should have been in class.

Turns out ‘anytime’ does have a _few_ limits.

 

***

 

It turns into a pattern. He calls several times a day with questions and hangs up before they can answer, then listens to the resulting voicemails obsessively.

 

_The chickens were your favorite. You’d chase them around all day if you could, so we’d give you the chicken feed and let you go crazy with it. Collecting eggs was like a daily treasure hunt._

_Call anytime. Except during school._

 

_Your father loved the fact that the ranch is so far out from the city. No light pollution. He’d go out every night he wasn’t working to look at the stars. He’d take you out too, once or twice a week. We never went with you two. He worked a lot, but any moment he was home he spent with you._

_Call anytime. We’ll be here._

 

_Yes, you did milk the cows. *chuckle* You weren’t very good at it, but you were determined._

_Call anytime. And if you ever feel like talking, we’ll be here._

 

_It was called Sally’s Diner and the chicken nuggets were dinosaurs, not zoo animals. You liked to make buildings out of french fries and send the dinosaurs on rampages. You and your dad always shared a banana split. Sally’s is still there. They don’t have the dinosaurs anymore, but the banana splits are still the best around._

_You can call anytime, but try to get some rest, okay? Janette says you’ve been falling asleep in class._

 

_I’m sorry, Keith, but I don’t think that’s a conversation we should have over the phone. Maybe we could meet with you, Janette, and Tom for lunch?_

_Either way, call anytime._

 

***

 

“I think you should go.” Keith makes a face but doesn’t snap or try to run like Shiro half expects. Instead he burrows a little further into the hoodie that he’s more or less appropriated. It’s gotten cold enough that they spend more time on the roof huddled together under blankets than they do using the telescope. “What could it hurt?”

Keith pulls his knit hat further down over his forehead and tugs the blanket a little tighter around him. It means they’re pressed closer together but Shiro doesn’t mind. “What if they decide they don’t want to wait anymore?” Keith’s voice barely tops a whisper. Shiro’s chest squeezes tight around his heart and a tiny shiver of fear goes through him too. He takes a chance and wraps an arm around his bony shoulders. Keith melts into his side, a tiny, pliant furnace.

“I don’t think they’ll do that. They’ve already been here for a month, even though you’ve barely talked to them. I doubt they’ll run out of patience any time soon.” Keith doesn’t answer, just buries his face into Shiro’s shoulder. “You said they’d tell you more about your mom?”

Keith nods, finally pulling away and looking up at the stars. There’s not much to see — cloud cover has obscured most of the sky. “Everything I know came from my dad, and… I just need to know the other side.”

“So then go. See what they have to say.”

Keith sighs and knocks his shoulder into Shiro’s side. “Stop making so much sense,” he grumbles.

Shiro laughs and tugs him into a tight hug. “So sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

“Good.”

 

***

 

Keith slumps, arms crossed, between Janette and Tom in the booth of the cafe where they’d chosen to have lunch. Kolivan and Thace sit opposite, dressed down from the suits he’d last seen them in. They’re still dressed like preppy nerds, though. He’d half expected gallon hats, spurs, and big gaudy belt buckles. That’s what Texans wore, right? Instead they’re wearing chinos and pressed button downs, Thace in purple and Kolivan in black.

Thace smiles and Kolivan’s lips are doing something that’s meant to be a smile but is more of a not-frown. “It’s good to see you, Keith,” Kolivan says. By now, his voice is so familiar that Keith would recognize it in a crowd, even if hearing it in person is different than on voicemails. Keith thinks that they might be waiting for an answer from him but if they are, they’re going to be waiting a long time. Kolivan seems to realize that, because he tries again. “How are you doing?”

Tom nudges him when he still doesn’t respond. Keith sighs. “Fine.” He slouches a little further in the bench.

“And how are you two?” Janette says when it becomes clear that Keith has no interest in being polite.

“Very well, thank you.”

Keith has no patience for small talk. “What happened to my mom?”

“Keith,” Janette chides.

“That can wait, Keith,” Tom adds. Keith scowls and sits up a little, ready to argue, but Kolivan interrupts before he can start.

“It’s okay. Let’s order and then we can talk.” Keith blinks at him, surprised but not sure why. Up until now, he and Thace have answered every question he’s asked without reservation.

“Okay,” he allows. As soon as they’ve received their drinks and given the menus back to the server, he’s back on the topic like a dog with a bone. “So?”

Kolivan takes a sip of his coffee before setting it back on the table with a click. “What would you like to know?” Thace covers his hand in silent support where it rests on the table.

Keith sits up and leans forward, staring him down. Kolivan stares right back, implacable. Keith breaks first. “I want to know what happened to my mom.”

Kolivan flips his hand to lace his fingers with Thace’s. “Of course. I don’t know what your father may or may not have told you…”

“He didn’t tell me jack shit except that she had been taken. And that she was still alive and he was going to find her.”

“Language,” all four adults say in unison. Keith stares at them incredulously. He did not sign up for _four_ parents.

“ _Really?”_ he asks.

Thace hides a smile with his coffee cup and Kolivan clears his throat. “Well then. The first thing you should know is that Thace, your mother, and I were in the US Special Forces. Do you know what —”

“I know what Special Forces are,” Keith interrupts. His brain is reeling. His dad had mentioned military, but he’d assumed he was talking about the normal kind, not the freaking Green Berets.

Kolivan nods. “I’m afraid I can’t speak much about our missions. Much of it is classified. Your mother retired soon after meeting your father. Thace and I did the same a year or so later, not long after your birth.” He pauses, looking down at his coffee cup. The next part comes haltingly, as if he still has a hard time talking about it. “When you were two, your mother was approached for a consulting job. The details are...vague. She kept them that way. I recognized it for what it was: a sign that whoever she was working for required a large amount of secrecy. I didn’t push for more information and I regret that now.”

He looks back up and locks eyes with Keith. There is sorrow and guilt in his gaze. It hits Keith hard. Whatever is about to come next, it’s going to be hard to hear.

“When you were three, your mother left on a business trip. Your father didn’t want her to go. We received a call from him a week later, wanting to know if we knew where she was. She had stopped returning his phone calls and hadn’t come home when she said she would.”

“Keith,” Janette says quietly, taking his hand and working his fist open. He hadn’t even realized he was clenching it, but now he feels the pain where his fingernails had created indents in his palm. She looks over at Kolivan. “Perhaps this can wait until after we eat.”

Kolivan keeps his eyes on Keith, but it’s Thace who says, “I think it would be best to finish the story now and move on to happier subjects.” Keith nods vehemently. Stopping now would just prolong the torture. Janette settles back in the booth but puts a comforting hand on Keith’s back. Part of him itches to shrug it off but the other part appreciates the warm, calming weight of it.

“I’m afraid there’s not much more to tell,” Kolivan says. He looks tired despite the coffee, aged by loss. “Your mother didn’t reappear. Your father attempted to run down her employer but got nowhere. Thace and I did our best, but we didn’t get much further. We were told in no uncertain terms that we were to stop digging or there would be consequences. For the sake of you and your father’s safety, we decided to back off.” He grimaces. “Your father was...less than pleased with our decision. It wasn’t long after that our relationship began to deteriorate.”

“When he went crazy, you mean,” Keith says flatly.

Thace frowns. “Your father wasn’t crazy,” he says firmly. “Considering the circumstances, he had every right to question. If he had only trusted us…” He sounds frustrated. He _looks_ frustrated. This time it’s Kolivan’s turn to comfort his partner. The quiet ease between them is the same he sees between Janette and Tom. It makes his stomach squirm with something like longing mixed with anxiety.

He wants that. It terrifies him.

“So is my mom alive?” His voice is shaking but he willfully ignores that fact.

Kolivan and Thace share a heavy look. “We don’t believe so,” Kolivan says gravely.

Something in Keith, a holdover from years of his dad’s certainty that she was alive, breaks apart when he hears the words. “Why?”

“Because if there was any way for her to get back to you, she would have found it.” Kolivan leans forward, expression earnest. “I believe that wholeheartedly. She loved you and your father.”

She loved them. Keith scoffs. “Great. That’s just fucking great. Too bad she didn’t love us enough to stay.” He turns to Janette. “I want to go. _Now.”_

Janette doesn’t even hesitate. She slides out of the booth and Keith follows quickly. Tom pulls out his wallet but Thace waves him off. “It’s fine, we’ve got it. Please.” Tom hesitates, but puts his wallet away.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Thace and Kolivan stand as well, but Keith doesn’t wait for pleasantries. He escapes to the car.

When Tom and Janette eventually join him, Janette is holding a gift bag. Keith eyes it warily but takes it when she offers it to him. He peeks inside and pulls out a battered stuffed hippo with wonky ears and a missing leg. It reminds him of Shiro. His chest hitches painfully. “Can I,” he swallows hard, “can I go back in for a moment?”

Janette smiles, but it’s sad. “Of course you can, Keith. Do you want us to come with you?” He shakes his head silently.

“We’ll wait out here,” Tom says, unlocking the car. “Take as long as you need. I think I saw the server on their way over with the food.” Keith nods and hesitantly makes his way back inside, hugging the stupid stuffed toy to his chest to keep that awful hitch from taking over.

Kolivan and Thace are huddled together, shoulder to shoulder. Kolivan is picking at his food, looking awfully morose for a man with so few facial expressions. There’s a stack of to-go boxes at Thace’s elbow.

Both men look up as he approaches them. Kolivan’s eyes catch on the hippo, then return to Keith’s face as he straightens up in his seat. Keith stops in front of them. “This belonged to my mom?”

Kolivan nods. “When we were little. She never let it go. Neither did you, until it got left behind when your dad moved you away.”

Until his dad stole him away, in other words. That’s a personal crisis for another day. He slides back into the booth, fingering the lump where one of the legs used to be. “My friend Shiro lost his arm too,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. “He’s got a kickass prosthesis though.”

“He’s the boy who was with you that first day, right?” Thace asks.

Keith nods and sets the hippo aside to look through the styrofoam boxes until he finds his hamburger. He pops a fry in his mouth. “He’s my best friend.”

“I’m glad you have such a good friend.”

Keith grunts and takes a bite of the hamburger to hide the way his heart is pounding. “Yeah. He’s alright,” he mumbles around his food. He swallows, takes a deep breath, and looks up at them. “Tell me more about the horses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
> Tumblr: [Votrashed](https://voltrashed.tumblr.com) (mostly inactive)
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments (sometimes it just takes me a while to get over my glee and figure out how to reply.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end (of this arc). Please note, I made a few changes to the timeline. I originally had Keith staying with the Smiths for only six months but I realized that there was too much going on for that short of a time period. It has been changed to a more vague "less than a year". Same goes for exactly when they lost contact. Vagueness - just do it.
> 
> The lovely [@circuscrovv](https://twitter.com/circuscrovv) was sweet enough to share another haiku from last week's chapter and it made me tear up!
> 
> Little boy don’t go,  
> We love you more than you know,  
> Baby boy come home.

Keith is at the bar sipping whiskey neat, bought with a fake ID when the crowd parts to reveal Shiro out on the dance floor with Keith’s section leader. He freezes, glass against his lips. He’s not sure what to panic about most: the fact that he’s probably about to get caught out in a lie or that his section leader is currently grinding his ass against Shiro’s groin and Shiro looks perfectly content with this.

Jealousy rears its ugly head despite knowing there’s nothing between the two. He turns away before his drunk ass tries to do something stupid. He pulls out his phone to text an SOS to Lance and Hunk. “Come _on,_ ” he growls as he waits for one of them to reply. He tosses back the rest of his drink. The room tilts a bit as he does but he ignores it as he slides through the crowd, heading towards the bathroom where he’d last seen Lance.

He’s not there, but Keith needs to break the seal anyways. He’s washing his hands when the door bangs open with a burst of loud music. Keith glances over and freezes, water still pouring over his wrists. Shiro stands in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Keith?” he asks in a small voice.

Keith winces. “Hey.” He removes his hands and wipes them on his jeans as Shiro steps in further and lets the door close behind him. “Uh. Fancy meeting you here.”

Shiro’s face closes down. “Yeah. Fancy that,” he says flatly. There’s a flush and a man steps out of one of the stalls. He takes one look at Keith’s deer-in-the-headlights look and Shiro’s tense stance and books it for the door without even washing his hands. Keith’s face screws up with disgust and when he looks, Shiro’s face mirrors his. Some of the tension eases between them. Shiro sighs and uncrosses his arms so he can shove his hands into the pockets of his obscenely tight jeans. He clears his throat pointedly. Keith snaps his eyes back up to his face, trying desperately to purge the fact that Shiro tucks left from his brain. Shiro’s cocky little smirk doesn’t help. “So. You don’t look very sick.”

“I... got better?” It sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

Shiro’s lips tighten and his shoulders come up defensively as he looks away. Then he shakes his head and runs a hand through his sweaty hair and gives him a self deprecating smile. “Keith, I’m not forcing you to hang out. I’d understand if you'd prefer not to. A few months of friendship eight years ago doesn’t have to mean friendship now.”

Keith’s heart twists with guilt over making Shiro ever doubt himself. He doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve any of Keith's behavior since they reunited. “I jerked off while wearing your dad’s sweatshirt,” he blurts, and then claps his hands over his mouth in horror.

“I. _What?_ ” Shiro looks completely flummoxed.

Keith groans and moves his hands up to cover his eyes. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“That explains not one single thing,” Shiro says dryly from much closer than he’d expected.

Keith peeks out from between his fingers; he’s standing directly in front of him, baffled smile curling his lips and amusement in his eyes. Keith sighs and says goodbye to his dignity. “Your dad’s sweatshirt. The NASA one you gave me before I left. I was wearing it and I, you know,” he makes the universal sign for jerking off. “I got come all over it and didn’t think I could face you after that, so I cancelled. I’m so sorry.”

He glances up, ready for recrimination or disgust or worse, disappointment. He’s not prepared for the grin lighting up Shiro’s face. “You kept it?” he asks, awed.

Keith blinks, stunned. _“That’s_ what you got from all that?” he asks, incredulous.

Shiro’s smile melts into soft affection. “It’s all I care about.” Something about his calm acceptance breaks Keith. He pushes forward into Shiro’s space and wraps his arms tightly around his waist. Shiro laughs and wraps his own arms around Keith’s shoulders. "Just. Do me a favor and stop running away, okay? It's kind of shitty." Keith nods emphatically. He's going to make it up to Shiro if it's the last thing he does.

Their hug continues far longer than what normal friendship normally calls for, but Shiro isn't moving away so like hell is Keith going to. His cheek fits so perfectly into the crook of Shiro’s neck and shoulder; he can’t help but nuzzle a little and if his lips brush against his skin, well, accidents happen. Shiro chokes, arms spasming and pulling him closer for a moment before he lets go, blushing as he looks away and clears his throat.

Interesting. Emboldened, Keith bites his lip and steps closer, tilting his head down so he can look up through his lashes in what Lance calls his _want sum fuk_ face. Shiro looks down at him with wide, dilated eyes. “So, you forgive me for fucking myself on my fingers and coming all over your hoodie?”

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath and jolts back several steps. “Jesus Christ, Keith.” He runs his hands through his hair, a sure sign that he’s flustered, and turns away. He can’t hide the way he adjusts himself though. Keith smirks, confidence restored.

“Hey. Stretch.” Shiro looks over his shoulder. “We should go dance.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Shiro declares. Keith nods.

“Yup.”

There’s a long, poignant silence, then Shiro exhales. “Fuck it,” he says, holding out a hand. “Come on, then.”

 

***

 

Shiro is full of beer and bad decisions, but it’s hard to care when Keith’s hand is warm against his and the memory of lips brushing against his pulse is warring with the image of a sated, sex messy Keith in his sweatshirt and nothing else. He’s half hard even before Keith tugs him into the middle of the crowd and throws his arms around his neck. He tries to angle his hips away at first but Keith is having none of it. His hands trail down his chest and around his back, pulling him close. Shiro gives in easy; denying Keith has always been a weak spot.

He wonders how Keith even got in to the club when he’s only twenty but the answer isn't exactly rocket science. Shiro had started college at seventeen; he’s well acquainted with fake IDs.

Keith rolls sinuously against him to the beat of the pounding music. His movements are fluid and agile as they'd always been, even as a kid. Shiro quickly banishes the image of him as a child, all skinned knees, bruised knuckles and mulish jut of the chin. If he thinks too hard about it, it will freak him out and he’s having too much fun for that.

Shiro is clumsy as he tries to keep rhythm with Keith. He’s never been much good at this but somehow, Keith’s hands on his hips manage to lead him into some approximation of grace. Shiro lets himself go pliant against him and move however Keith wants. With alcohol taking the edge off and Keith sure and steady against him, it's easy to turn his mind off and ignore the small part of him warning _no, bad idea, stop now before you can’t._ He's missed the tabula rasa in his head that takes over when someone else is there to lead.

Keith turns in his arms and presses the whole line of his body against him. Shiro muffles a small sound against his shoulder and briefly contemplates backing off a bit but then Keith grinds his hips back and all thought flies out of his head. He wraps one hand around Keith’s waist, rests the other over his heart, and pulls him snug up against him. Keith tilts his head, sweat damp hair brushing and sticking to Shiro’s jaw. He slides one hand to rest over the one at his waist and snakes the other around Shiro’s neck. It makes his back arch and settles his ass more firmly in the cradle of Shiro’s hips. Shiro groans and bucks forward.

Keith spins again. This time there’s not so much as a hint of space between them. Keith's dick is hard against his hip and his forehead sweaty against his, eyes wide and dark as they stare into his from so close. All he would have to do is tilt his head a quarter of an inch and they’d be kissing. They've drifted to the edge of the dance floor, the air around them as intimate as possible for a dance club.

The bass drops and Shiro jerks out of his haze. He pulls back abruptly, regretting it when hurt flashes and disappears from Keith’s face as quickly as the strobing lights. Over Keith’s shoulder, he sees Matt dancing with some girl, but his eyes are firmly on them. He turns back to Keith, who looks like he already knows what he’s going to say. “I’m sorry,” he starts, but Keith shakes his head.

“But you can’t do this, right?” His smile is wry, tired. He pushes hair off his forehead and gathers it in a stubby ponytail off his neck. He puffs his cheeks before blowing out a gust of whiskey tinted air. It’s not fair how good he looks with sweaty hair and stains at his neck and armpits, shouting to be heard. “It’s okay, I get it.”

Shiro hesitates, and then admits defeat. It’s kind of hard to deny his attraction at his point. “Yet.” Keith cocks his head, a thread of hope weaving through the confusion on his face. “I can’t do this yet. Not until the semester is over.”

A slow smile grows on Keith’s lips, the same joyful one he’d promised years ago to put on his face as often as possible. Keith crowds close, breath hot and tantalizing against his cheek. “When it’s over, then.” He scrapes his teeth against one earlobe. Shiro closes his eyes and prays for strength.

Keith pulls away, biting his lip and giving a cheeky two fingered salute before turning and disappearing in the crowd. A hand on Shiro's shoulder startles him. He spins and finds Matt smiling sympathetically. “Everything alright there, buddy?”

Shiro looks down at his erection mournfully. “No.” He gazes back out over the crowd and thinks he catches a brief flash of dark hair and familiar shoulders. A slow smile sneaks onto his face. “But I think it will be.”

 

***

 

Keith spends more and more time with Kolivan and Thace. He vacillates between craving time with them and guilt over the fact that his relationship with them is becoming more than just surface level. When the weight grows too heavy he clings to the Smiths, convinced that they're going to think he doesn’t want to stay with them anymore. No matter how much they reassure him, it keeps him up at night. Aside from his dad, he’s never had a family who wanted him, much less two. He’s being torn in half, so he seeks solace in the one person keeping him together.

Shiro sits next to him on the couch, playing Mario Kart like his life is on the line. He crows and throws his hand up in triumph as he knocks Keith off the track just before the finish line. Keith throws his controller down on the couch in disgust. “ _How?”_ he groans into his hands. The bastard’s not even wearing his prosthesis. “You’re literally driving one handed and you’re still kicking my ass.”

Shiro waves what’s left of his right arm smugly. “I’m just that good.” His grin turns cheeky. “Or maybe you just suck.”

Keith launches himself across the couch, hollering a war cry. Shiro catches him with a laugh and they roll off the couch to wrestle on the floor. They’re pretty evenly matched; Keith is small but scrappy and Shiro might be missing an arm but he’s easily twice his size. In the end, Shiro wins by simply flopping his whole weight over Keith and crushing the air out of him. “Mercy,” he wheezes, slapping him on the back. Shiro cackles and refuses to move.

“If you boys break something, your mother will be very mad.” Keith and Shiro look up at Jiichan, who is standing over them with arms crossed and an amused look. “That includes each other.”

“Sorry, Jiichan,” they say in unison. Shiro rolls off him but doesn’t bother getting up.

“Uh huh,” Jiichan says, unimpressed. He turns his attention on Keith. “Keith, Janette is looking for you.”

Keith hops to his feet and dusts off his pants. “‘Kay. Thanks Jiichan.” He nudges Shiro in the stomach with his foot, ignoring the _oof_ he lets out. “Stars later?”

“Homework, then stars. Maybe. If it’s not too late,” he hedges.

“Who does homework on a Friday?” Keith gripes.

“Someone who wants to go camping tomorrow.” Shiro grunts as he pushes himself to his feet. Keith’s heart jumps in excitement, but he does his best to hide it.

“Yeah yeah, whatever, Stretch.”

Shiro snorts and shoves him toward the door. “Brat.”

Keith spins and salutes him with a small smile, then jumps the stairs and lopes across the front lawns and into his own house. “Whatever it is, it wasn’t me,” he calls as he kicks his shoes off. Janette pokes her head out of the kitchen.

“See, now that just makes me think you did do something and I just don’t know about it yet."

Keith makes a face. “What’d you need?” he asks instead of answering that. No need to go digging unnecessary holes.

Janette disappears back into the kitchen. “I need you to come help me make the salad and then set the table. Your uncles are coming over for dinner.”

Keith frowns, but starts pulling vegetables out of the fridge. “But it’s not Sunday.” They always do dinners on Sunday. He doesn’t like schedule changes. They never seem to end up well for him. Janette just hums, unconcerned as she tastes the spaghetti sauce she’s stirring.

“Kolivan said they wouldn’t be able to make it on Sunday so we rescheduled. Here, try this.” She holds the spoon out to him. He leans forward to taste and smacks his lips as he thinks.

“Needs more sugar,” he decides.

Janette rolls her eyes. “You always think it needs more sugar,” she teases.

Keith shrugs and sticks his tongue out. “I grew up on SpaghettiOs, what d’you expect?”

Janette flaps a hand at him and then points at the cutting board. “Get to work, kid.” Keith bites back a laugh as he washes a cucumber and starts chopping. “I think it needs more oregano,” she muses as she takes another taste.

“Basil,” he offers. She snaps her fingers and points at him.

“See? I knew there was a gourmand hiding somewhere inside you.”

He knows she’s teasing, but it still makes him flush with pleasure. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” she mimics, and laughs when he throws a slice of cucumber at her. They work in companionable quiet, broken only by Janette’s humming and occasional terrible singing, until Tom gets home. He wraps his arms around Janette from behind and kisses her on the neck. Janette giggles and turns to kiss him properly. It’s disgusting.

“Ew,” Keith whines, just to be a little shit. “You guys are so gross.”

Tom kisses her one more time, then reaches out and ruffles Keith’s hair. Keith ducks away but his glare holds no real power. “You say that now, but I’m sure you’ll be grossing out your own kids someday.”

Keith doubts it, and not just because he could care less about girls. “Can I go set the table now?”

“Go on, shoo so I can kiss my husband in peace. Your uncles should be here soon.”

He’s just setting out the last of the silverware when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!” Kolivan and Thace smile warmly at him when he opens the door. “Hey,” he says as he takes the hand Kolivan holds out to him. They don’t hug. They aren’t there yet, but maybe someday. “Dinner’s almost ready. How come you can’t come on Sunday?”

“Straight to the point, as usual,” Thace says as they follow him to the dining room. Keith just shrugs; they should be used to it by now. “There was a small emergency back on the ranch so we need to fly back to handle it,” he continues after exchanging hellos with the Smiths and they sit down to eat. Keith’s stomach drops.

“But you’re coming back, right?”

“Yes,” Kolivan reassures him. but it doesn't help because he doesn’t sound done yet. He takes a sip of wine. “There is something we would like to speak with you about, however.”

And here it is. The other shoe dropping. It figures it would come just as he was starting to forget that it was still hovering. He glances at the Smiths, who look very calm. That means that whatever Kolivan is about to say, they already know about it. He's not sure if that helps or hurts. “What is it,” he says quietly, just wanting to get it over with.

“Our ranch hands are very competent but there’s only so much they can do without at least one of us there,” Kolivan explains. “Once everything is settled, Thace will be staying behind to continue taking care of things down there.”

Keith’s heart sinks and his throat tightens. He sets down his fork and picks up his garlic bread, picking at the crust. “But that’s not going to work forever,”  he says slowly. “Eventually, you’ll both have to go back.” He feels like he should be angry or sad or _something_ , but instead he just feels numb.

“No,” Kolivan says, gentle but blunt.

“And you’re going to take me with you.” The adults share a look, and that’s when he knows he right. He knew this was coming, but somehow he’d thought maybe it could be put off forever, that they could stay in this holding pattern where he got to have everything he wanted. It was stupid and naive and he should know better. He drops the garlic bread back onto his plate. “When?”

Janette looks at Tom before turning to Keith. “ Actually, we’ve been discussing the situation, and we believe that we have come up with a compromise,” she tells him, taking Tom’s hand. Keith blinks at her, confused, but a small tendril of hope grows inside him. “We all agreed that it would be best if you finished out the school year here. Then you could spend part of summer here and part down there to get you used to things. Maybe meet some friends before starting school. After that, well, we can figure out a schedule for visits. You can come here for longer breaks, and we can come visit for holidays.” She leans forward and takes Keith’s hand where it lays limp on the table. “We are _not_ abandoning you or getting rid of you, Keith. Do you understand? We love you and only want what’s best for you.”

“You deserve to be with your family,” Tom adds.

“I thought you were my family,” Keith says dully.

“We are,” Tom and Janette say at the same time Kolivan and Thace say, “They are!” Keith flinches under the intensity coming from all four corners. He slips his hand out from under Janette’s.

“Do I get any say in this?”

“We didn’t want you to feel like you had to choose between us,” Kolivan says.

They didn’t want him to have to choose. Meaning, they didn’t want to give him a choice. He finally starts to feel something again: anger. “Wow, thanks. So considerate of you,” he sneers. “Why can’t it be the other way around? Why can’t I stay here and visit _them?”_ he flicks a wrist at Kolivan and Thace.

Tom presses his lips tight, the first sign that he’s getting frustrated. _Well, too fucking bad,_ Keith thinks nastily. He’s way past frustrated. “It’s not that simple, Keith. CPS had to be informed when Kolivan and Thace made themselves known as your relatives. They’ve been very patient so far, thanks to your uncles, but eventually that’s going to run out. Kolivan would have to sign away his familial rights for you to stay here and that still doesn’t guarantee that they wouldn't place you elsewhere at some point.”

Keith wilts, all the fight going out of him. “So that’s it?”

“I’m sorry, kid,” Janette says. “But like I said, you’re still going to see us all the time. And Thace says that the schools in their district are the best in the state. That’s definitely not something you can say about the ones around here.” She smiles weakly.

“If you still feel the same way in a year we can talk about making changes, but I’d like it if you could at least give us an honest try,” Kolivan tells him. “I really think you’ll like it there. With us.”

Keith looks down at his hands. It’s not like he has a choice. That’s been made abundantly clear and he can’t deny there’s a small part of him that misses the ranch he barely remembers. “You promise? If I don’t like it, I can come back?”

“If you feel the same way after a year,” Kolivan repeats. Something in Keith relaxes a little to hear that. He's not trapped.

“Okay.” When he looks up, all four are looking at him with varying levels of surprise. “I. I mean. What else am I gonna say? Okay. I’ll try it.”

Kolivan breaks out into a grin bigger than any Keith has seen from him before. It looks strange. It makes him feel strange. He focuses on Thace instead, whose smile is at least a little more familiar. “We’re so glad to hear that, Keith,” he says when he notices Keith watching.

Keith looks away. “Can I stay at Shiro’s tonight?”

“Of course,” Janette tells him. Keith mumbles goodbyes as he pushes away from the table and books it back to Shiro’s. He needs someone to talk to.

 

***

 

“Keith, I thought we agreed— homework today, camping tomorrow.” Shiro turns in his desk chair when he hears Keith’s clunking footsteps up the stairs. For a kid so small, he has an impressive ability to be incredibly loud when he wants.

“Forget all that,” Keith snaps. He looks half wild, hair everywhere and eyes wide. “There’s more important things going on.”

Shiro listens, surprise slowly morphing into acceptance as Keith recounts the dinner he’d just had, sitting cross-legged on Shiro’s bed and clutching one of his pillows to his chest. He’d known Keith was going to have to leave eventually. The reality of it is depressing, but not as badly as he’d expected. Keith seems to agree. “I mean, I’ll still get to see them, right? And you too. It’ll be like… like a divorce kind of thing. Joint custody. Or something.”

Shiro gets up and plops down on the bed next to him, sending Keith tumbling into his side as the mattress dips. Keith grumbles and smacks him with the pillow but doesn’t move away. “That’s exactly what it sounds like,” Shiro agrees.

Keith frowns, poking a finger through one of the holes in the knees of his jeans. “I’m going to miss you, though,” he admits quietly. Shiro smiles. It doesn’t even sound like it pained Keith to say.

“I’ll miss you too. But it’s not going to change that much. I mean, I’ll be going to college next fall anyways and I usually spend the last few weeks of summer at a tech camp so I’ll probably be leaving the same time you do.” The thought sends a little pang of sadness through him. He’s been trying not to think too hard about the future. He clears his throat. “We’ll keep in touch. Send letters, call, email, whatever. And it’s not like it’s happening immediately. We’ve got months left before any of this happens.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, subdued.

Shiro nudges him. “And hey, you can take my sweatshirt with you, if you want,” he teases. He clasps his hands under his chin and flutters his eyelashes dramatically. “That way you’ll never forget me and the purity of our love.”

Keith finally laughs and shoves him away. “You’re joking, but that thing’s mine now. No takebacks.”

Shiro leans all his weight against him until he’s practically crushing Keith. “And whatever shall I have to remember _you_ by, my dear sweet Keithy-cat?”

“A black eye,” Keith growls, shoving until he’s able to get free. Shiro gasps and clutches his chest.

“Why oh why must you hurt me so?”

Keith snickers before flopping back down next to him. “God, you’re such a loser.”

“A loser you’re going to miss,” Shiro points out, but he drops the act.

“Yeah. You might’ve grown on me a bit. Like a fungus.”

“Wow, Keith,” Shiro says flatly. “You’re going to give me a big head if you don’t stop complimenting me like this.”

Keith snorts and settles a little more firmly against his side. “Whatever. I guess I can find something to leave you. A stinky old shoe, maybe.” The joke falls a little flat as melancholy finds its way back into the atmosphere. This time Shiro lets it. Keith turns on his side to face Shiro. Shiro mirrors him. “Shiro, are things going to be alright?”

Shiro gives the question the thought and seriousness it deserves. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. Then he smiles softly. “But I think it will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I mentioned in the beginning note, this story is part one of Keith and Shiro's back story. The next arc will be more focused on their romantic and *ahem* burgeoning sexual relationship. Be sure to subscribe here or twitter to get updates!
> 
> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1)  
> Tumblr: [Votrashed](https://voltrashed.tumblr.com) (mostly inactive)
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments (sometimes it just takes me a while to get over my glee and figure out how to reply.)


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